


I'll be your new home

by robotjellyfish



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Asphyxiation, Force Feeding, M/M, Shance secret santa, mermaid au, nothing majorly graphic but rating just in case, shance, some elements of torture, the torture still isn't too graphic but im adding tags for stuff that happens just in case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotjellyfish/pseuds/robotjellyfish
Summary: Lance is dragged form his home, held prisoner and at the mercy of scientists who only want to figure out how he works. His only friend in the cold, dark place is the man with the silver arm who brings him food. The scientists care enough to keep him alive as a specimen, at least for as long as they can gain something from him.... A shance secret santa fic for yuuki-bozu





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yuukibozu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuukibozu/gifts).



> This is my shance secret santa gift to yuuki-bozu. Happy Holidays yuuki-bozu I hope you're having a wonderful time. This is chapter one of your fic, I'm sorry I could finish the whole thing for Christmas but I hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's to come. 
> 
> As a note this fic wont be particularly violent but there will be some descriptions of torture and bad things and Lance suffers a lot. There will be no non-con though you are safe from that. Also someone might be losing a limb. Further tags/characters will be added later.
> 
> EDIT: Chapter 1 has been edited because i read over it and realised I hadn't edited it as much as i usually would and i can do better! A small scene has been added but nothing much has changed I just reworded and expanded on some things so hopefully it reads better now.

Never venture to the surface. From the moment they were born, and the world above was nothing more than a bedtime story to frighten naughty little guppies they were always warned against it. Never go up to the surface, never stray too far into the shallows, and never allow yourself to be seen. Should you ever have the misfortune to find yourself in shallow waters where the mysterious light from above filtered through in a sparkling, mesmerising display when the bulky shadows of their boats loomed overhead, then hide! Return immediately to the dark depths where it is safe and heed the warnings of the other creatures of the deep, for humans are greedy and wicked. They take all that they desire, possess that which isn't theirs and give nothing in return.

You must stay away.

Lance should have listened to the stories.

But Lance was reckless and curious, and when the shadows of the boat loomed overhead, foolishly, he swam towards it. Even the knowledge that several of his kind had mysteriously vanished around these waters lately did not deter him. He showed no caution and did not heed the warning in the excited, raised voices that came from the boat when he drew closer, believing he was smarter than them, that he could outwit them. They would never see him.

They did.

They ensnared him with a net he could not break free from, trapping him, and they dragged him up on the boat ripping him away from his home, the ocean, and everything he knew.

At first, he fought wildly even as his struggles made the heavy, coarse net coil tighter around him and dig painfully into his scales and skin. He thrashed and hissed at them, slashing at them with sharp, pointed nails if they got too close.

They showed no surprised or wonder at seeing him, what he was. Their elation one of victory, one of having set off in search of something they knew was there, something they wanted to claim as theirs, and now, having found it, they celebrated, jeering at him and taunting him. They knew, and they were prepared for him.

No matter what he threw at them nothing worked. Some wore bright blobs of orange in their ears, others wore big, circular objects over their ears that appeared to block out all sound, so his shrill, high pitched screams (that could typically stun a shark or any other fierce predator) had no effect. He tried changing pitch. He tried singing. When all of that didn't work, he tried scratching and kicking again, screaming in frustration, but he was no match for them.

They did not put him in a tank of water, as might be the obvious choice, but instead, they threw him into what was nothing more than a plastic box with a shallow puddle at the bottom, as if he were nothing more than a lump of seaweed. The water was enough to keep him alive, enough to keep his gills and skin moist but it was not enough for him to maintain his tail. His scales. His true form.

His scales dried quickly and ugly, awkward legs formed in their place as his strength waned. Lance wept a mournful, high pitched cry that was not human when he saw them, and he shuddered a twist of nausea settling in the pit of his stomach. They were strange, utterly unfamiliar and frightening. He knew that his body could undergo this transformation. Knew that if he ever found himself out of the water, his scales would dry, and legs would form in their place in order to protect him, and he had always been curious about it, but this was his first time experiencing it, and it was utterly against his will.

The box allowed little room for movement, the net, still wrapped around him, limited him even further. He could see nothing but the dark walls surrounding him, pressing in on him, and a dark rectangle above (the lid they'd clipped on after they threw him in). Dim light filtered through several small, round holes drilled in the lid. The lack of light did not impair his vision, he could see clearly even in the darkest depths after all, but he kept his head turned, staring at the smooth, dark wall inches away from his nose so he wouldn't have to see those legs again. The only thing he had to focus on now was the familiar sway of the ocean as the current carried the boat further and further away from his home.

Eventually the current moved to another rhythm, the waves crashed against the bow with a different beat, and Lance knew he had travelled further than he ever had before, miles away from his pod's territory, miles away from his family and friends.

He cried a sad, mournful song without any tears for the rest of the journey.

He felt the boat dock, felt the gentle rise and fall of the current in the shallow water where the boat rested. It all felt wrong.

The box was lifted up, swayed carelessly as it was carried off the boat and moved onto something else that roared and rumbled frighteningly. It was a sound he had never heard before. Lance cowered at the bottom of the box as the floor shook beneath him small, embarrassing sounds of distress slipping from his lips.

He wished he had just a little more water.

The world finally stopped shaking, and the box was lifted up again and carried off just as carelessly as last time. Thankfully this final journey was much shorter. He was brought to a cold, dark, dry room where the lid was prised off the box with a loud crack. He curled up on himself tighter as light flooded his box, foolishly hoping he could make himself small enough to hide. Ignoring his distress several pairs of hands reached for him, grabbing the ropes of the net they used it to hoist him roughly out of the box and then tossed him onto the floor beside it.

Tired and disorientated Lance didn't have the energy to lash out or try to fight as they hacked the net away from him. He had never gone so long without water, never felt so dry and ill. His whole body itched uncomfortably, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

The box was carried out, a door shut and locked, and Lance was alone and isolated once again.

For a while, he didn't move even though he was finally free. The room was bigger than the box he'd been in providing more room to stretch, and he could smell stale, still water nearby, but even that wasn't enough to motivate him to move. He was afraid. Frozen.

It took what felt like hours for Lance to even lift his head and look around to take in his surroundings, his glowing blue eyes providing a clear view of the low lit room. Half of the floor was lowered, like a ditch, providing a shall pit that was covered with water. Attached to the opposite wall was a horizontal slab of metal, wide enough for a person to lie on, but there were no blankets or any other comforts on it, almost as if they knew he would never use them. Under the bed was a bucket, all cracked around the edges, and other than that, there was nothing else in the room.

He dragged himself towards the water when the dryness in his gills and skin became unbearable. The pit was only a few centimetres deep filled with just enough water to cover the floor and no more. It was a puddle really, barely even deep enough to dip his toes into but he dragged himself in gratefully, lay down in it even as the stale smell blocked his nose and churned his stomach.

Lance splashed the water over his body trying not to cringe at how sickening it felt. It wasn't sea water, and was so stale it moved like sludge, it had probably been lying in the room for weeks, and there was so little of it, but even so, it brought some life back to his body.

He forced his tail back, even though he knew there wasn't enough water to sustain it. Even though he knew his scales would dry out soon he revelled in the familiarity of having his true body back. He endured the dry itchiness for as long as he could stubbornly washing water over his scales, again and again, willing them to last.

Too soon the itch became too much. It made him squirm, and made him want to rip his scales out because it was so irritating, so painful. The itch seeped into his scales, his skins, sinking all the way down to his bones into his very being and he felt he would never escape it. If he forced his tail for too long, without fresh sea water to sustain it, it would damage his scales and he might never be able to go back, so he allowed his ugly legs to form and stay. The stale, murky water was unpleasant, but it was better than no water at all. It was enough to keep him alive.

He shook his legs, wiggled strange toes and tried not to recoil at the sight. Legs were safer but certainly not comfier. The sight of them still made him sick, made him feel wrong, but at least his scales wouldn't get damaged.

He played with the water to calm himself, swirling it around his fingers and ignoring the panic he felt when he noticed his powers were already weakening. It was harder to manipulate the water. It didn't answer him as readily and smoothly as it usually did. He was so far away from home, so far away from his ocean and the water around him was just wrong.

He shuddered, letting the water drop away from his hand with a weak plop. He curled in tightly on himself and tried not to cry. It all felt so hopeless.

Time passed though Lance could not tell how much of it. The dim light in the room never changed. Nothing changed. The water only moved at his bidding, or if he shifted his body. There was no current, no flow of water that could tell him what time of day it was or how much time had passed. How long had he been away from his family? It felt like forever and yet at the same time it seemed as if no time had passed at all. Nothing changed and his perception of time was warped.

Lance swirled the foul water around his body like a cocoon and waited. There was nothing else he could do.

The first person who came to the room was a man. A man he had not seen on the boat when he’d been captured, but that wasn’t in any way reassuring. The door opened without warning letting in a burst  
of too bright, artificial light that made Lance recoil even further into the corner.

The man was tall, broad, and intimidating despite his gentle smile. His features were strong and sharp, a face that commanded attention. His hair was a sharply contrasting black and white, and one arm was an odd shiny silver. It wasn't skin. He was the strangest human Lance has seen so far.

He stood in the room his shoulders hunched awkwardly as if he were trying to make his large form seem smaller. He looked behind him, checking to make sure the door was closed before turning back to Lance. The man did not stand with the arrogant swagger of the men on the boat. He did not bear down on Lance or loom over him, taunting him as the others had. He seemed almost nervous and still hadn't made a move to approach, but Lance was still afraid. Still wary.

Lance hissed, the sound echoing sharp and dangerous around the tiny cell. The man's gentle smile fell, and he looked almost panicked at Lance's reaction.

“Hey it’s ok I’m not going to hurt you. I have food,” the man called his tone soothing and encouraging as if he were speaking to an injured animal. Lance would not fall for his lies. He gathered up a ball of the precious water and hurled it at the man and the tray he carried, ruining the meal.

“How did you…?” The man blinked clearly stunned water dripping down the tuft of white hair hanging across the middle of his face, running along his nose hi-lighting the pink scar slicing across it.

Lance hissed again allowing the crest around his ears and neck to grow. He allowed his teeth to elongate, his jaw to open wider than was humanly possible as he displayed rows of sharp, jagged teeth. Hints of scales appeared along his neck and shoulders glowing blue as his eyes got brighter, sharper. The hiss grew to a higher pitch becoming a purely animalistic, deadly sound. A clear warning to stay away. He may not be able to do much, but he could sound threatening. The man’s eyes widened, and for a moment Lance allowed himself to revel in the flash of fear he saw there.

The man got the message.

“Ok. It's ok, I’m leaving. But you should try to eat something soon…” he looked at the tray hesitantly for a moment and almost considered leaving it there, but the food was wet and inedible, so he left with it. It was surely only the stress of the situation, but to Lance, the man's tone had almost been kind as if his concern wasn't fake. As if he really cared.

No, he couldn't allow himself to be fooled. Lance directed one last hiss at the closed door before he settled down letting the scales and crest fade. That display had drained him, and he was even more exhausted now.

Time stretched on for another eternity, the hours Lance spent alone impossible to count. It seemed as if an age passed before the man came again, and again Lance threw water at him ruining the food. He hissed at the man even as his stomach growled.

The man left again with the sodden food and again Lance was left alone. There was no sound, still no change to suggest the passage of time. Nothing. By the fatigue and hunger that tugged at his body, Lance guessed that it might have been two or three days. He didn't dare sleep, not properly which only worsened his fatigue. Maybe it had only been a day or even a few hours. He really had no idea. The ache in his body, the weakening of his strength was the only measure of time he had and even that he could not measure properly. He could not trust it.

The third time the man came prepared. This time he placed the food in a sealed, waterproof container. He stood patiently taking the brunt of Lance's attacks without a word. Lance hurled handful after handful of water at him though by now there was little strength to his attacks. The hiss was only half-hearted, and Lance didn't have the energy to show off his sharp teeth or do anything to make himself appear more threatening.

When Lance stopped throwing water, settling instead on curling up in a tight ball hissing intermittently, the man moved over to the metal bed and set the container down on it.

“You should eat,” he said softly tapping the lid of the container. His soft grey eyes lingered on Lance with an expression he almost mistook for worry. Hunger was evidently making him delirious. Lance's hiss grew louder, and the man left.

Lance did not go near the container though he spent a long time staring at it, considering it. His stomach clenched painfully.

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t eat?” The man said when he came again, a disappointed sigh leaving him as he saw the container right where he’d left it. Lance didn’t splash him this time, didn’t even hiss when he entered the room. He had almost been hopeful for a moment.

Lance was still sat in the puddle the water rippling faintly around him, but he was tired. Weak. Dull blue eyes watched the man as he stepped further into the room, moved over to the bed to pick up the old container in one hand, a fresh container held in the other.

He stood there for a moment a container held in each hand weighing up his options. Then he had an idea. He set both containers down and opened one.

“The food is good. It won’t harm you I promise,” he said firmly plucking out one of the rolls of bread. It was simple, very basic food but it was better than nothing. He turned to face Lance taking a small, very deliberate bite of the bread. He chewed slowly his gaze fixed on Lance to show him that the food was safe.

Lance remained curled up in the corner, his eyes wary. He didn’t have the energy for anything more.

“See,” the man said once he'd swallowed the bite. He was still standing. There was nothing wrong with the food.

The man picked up the container and carefully, very slowly moved closer to Lance. With each step, Lance grew more tense, curled up tighter until the man was right on the edge of the shallow pit he’d made his home. Just as the man was about to step into the water, Lance snapped. He hissed, though the sound was weaker and not as threatening now, but the man stopped.

“I won’t come any closer,” he said, and much to Lance’s amazement he stopped and crouched down by the edge of the water instead so that he was on Lance's level, less threatening. He held the container out towards Lance his arms stretched as far as they could go.

“Please eat.” His tone was soft, pleading. He really did sound worried, and Lance was too tired not to fall for it. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten since he’d been captured and it had been so long. It felt like too long, and his stomach was clenching painfully pleading with him to eat.

He leaned forward very slowly, his eyes trained on the man watching for any warning sign of movement, but the man remained completely still. Lance moved closer dragging himself slowly through the water. He still hadn’t gotten used to his legs, hadn’t even tried yet.

The man smiled encouragingly at him, and Lance stilled for a moment, tense. Noticing his mistake the man schooled his expression back into a more neutral one and remained still. Lance watched for several moments longer letting the time drag, waiting the man out. But the man was patient and seemingly really did have no ulterior motive. Lance moved again close enough now to take the container.

His stomach growled pleadingly, and despite the fear that gripped his heart, his stomach begged him to snap up the food and devour it in one, but the man’s strange hand and arm drew his attention, distracting him, much as it had the first time he’d seen him.

Although his exposure to the other humans on the boat had been brief and passed in rush of panic, he hadn't seen any of them with something like this. His hand reached past the container, fingers brushing cold silver instead.

The box fell into the water with a small splash as the man tore his hand back as if he’d been burnt. Lance threw himself against the wall, hissing in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, strange silver hand cradled against his chest, “I just….don’t like people touching it…” he swallowed thickly, got to his feet and moved over to the bed to grab the other container.

“Sorry…” he said again opening the container and setting it down near the edge of the water where he’d been crouching. He all but ran from the room after that hand still held tightly against his chest.

Lance remained frozen for a moment his gaze fixed on the closed door. He was confused. He hadn't ever expected a human to run from him after the way they'd treated him so far. He was a little afraid too, frozen to the spot almost expecting some form of retaliation to follow, but nothing happened. The room remained still and unchanged. The food called out to him.

He shuffled closer grabbing the first thing his hand touched from the container he shoved it in his mouth and ate chewing the food viciously, swallowing in big greedy gulps, and although the food was strange and dry and quite frankly tasted awful, it settled in his stomach satisfyingly diminishing his hunger just a little.

Another long, lonely time passed. Lance tried moving his legs more, but he didn't dare try to stand. They seemed too weak and thin.

The man came again, Lance had thought he wouldn’t, but here he was another container in his hands.

“Hey, you ate it!” He said brightly seeing the two empty containers lined up side by side. Lance was not proud to admit that he had been so hungry after eating the first lot of food that he’d then eaten the spoiled food that had fallen in the water. It had almost made him sick but hunger won out, and he'd managed to keep the food down.

Lance scowled. The man smiled.

“I bought you something a little different today. I think you might like it. Oh also this,” he said holding up a length of fabric that looked like some sort of clothing. Lance wasn't really bothered about covering himself, he was well insulated against the cold and was able to handle the harshest winter ocean, but the man seemed to think he needed it.

“I'll leave you to figure it out,” the man said putting the item down on the metal bed a little awkwardly. His eyes always stayed on Lance's face, his gaze never straying further down. It was then Lance realised that his nudity might be causing the man some embarrassment and he might have laughed had he not felt so weak.

“Anyway try this first you still haven't eaten much,” the man said excitedly as he moved to the edge of the water pulling off the lid of the container with a proud flourish. A salty, sea smell reached his nose, and this time Lance did not hesitate to shuffle closer. He snatched the container, careful not to touch the strange silver hand this time.

Reaching for the salty smelling bread Lance pulled it out of the container, noticing there was something pink sandwiched between the bread, and a smell that reminded him of home. It was tuna, and the familiar smell made his mouth water, a moment later he tore into the food practically inhaling it in his rush to taste. It wasn't as fresh or delicious as the food he could get at home, but it was at least somewhat familiar. Comforting.

The man was still crouched down, watching him, a relieved smile on his lips.

“My name is Takashi Shirogane, but everyone calls me Shiro,” the man's smile grew wider, and Lance paused food held halfway to his mouth mid-bite. He stared at Shiro.

“Sorry. I just thought you should know my name,” Shiro said shifting uncomfortably under Lance’s glowing blue gaze.

“So anyway I guess you like tuna huh?” Shiro quickly changed the subject.

Lance took a big bite of the tuna roll and went back to eating.

“Right, of course, you do….” Shiro muttered awkwardly. It was rather difficult to hold a one-sided conversation.

He wasn’t even sure if the boy could understand him, the doctors that ran the facility hadn’t told him much about their new patient only that he was jumpy, and all Shiro had to do was leave the food for him.

“Ok then you enjoy that I’ll just...go...,” he said getting to his feet after the silence had stretched out for a too long, uncomfortable time.

“Lance…” he heard behind him the voice muffled by a mouthful of food but the word was clear. Shiro resisted the urge to spin around, resisted the urge to run back to Lance and continue to talk to the boy. He didn’t want to scare him.

“Don’t eat too fast Lance, you’ll make yourself sick. I’ll bring you more tuna tomorrow,” Shiro promised before he left.

 

* * *

 

After a couple of good meals, it seemed they felt he was ready. Three men come into the room, none of them Shiro and Lance hissed pressing back into the corner throwing water at them. They were not phased. Two of the men walked towards him, one on each side grabbing him by his arms dragging him to unsteady feet.

They carried him down a brightly lit corridor. The light so bright that he had to squint against it and the shock of it was enough to still his struggling. His legs jerked uselessly as he tried to move his feet in time with their steps, but he couldn't keep up. There was nothing Lance could do but let them drag him to wherever it was.

He was taken to another room, strapped down onto a cold, hard chair and the men left. The room was dim, darker than the bright corridor at least, giving him the chance to adjust. Lance tugged at his bonds, struggled against them, but he'd been granted little freedom of movement. His arms and legs were strapped down, and thick bonds stretched across his chest, waist and thighs too. He could barely even jerk his body against them. He growled and twisted but could do nothing more.

When more people came into the room, different people to the ones who had brought him here, Lance screamed, at a high enough pitch to give himself a headache, but once again the people weren't affected. They advanced on him without any hesitation dressed in bright, pure white that hurt to look at.

One of them grabbed his arm, held it down with a bruising grip and stabbed something sharp into the crook of his elbow. Lance's hiss grew louder, and he struggled again, but the people only looked down on him, watching him with dull, unimpressed eyes. Waiting.

Lance pulled against the restraints again, glared at them, screamed at them and allowed his crest and teeth to grow trying to look as threatening as he could. Their lack of reaction was maddening and infuriating making him thrash desperately. He knew it was a waste of energy, but he couldn't just lie there. Then he felt it, a feeling of the world spinning, his power and consciousness fading so that he could no longer scream, no longer hiss. His body went limp, his head lolled to one side as he lost the strength to hold it up, his body no longer obeying his command.

That was what they had been waiting for.

After Lance had gone still, they approached again poking and prodding him with more sharp objects taking all sorts of samples and measurements. They shone lights in his eyes, poked fingers and other things in his mouth, grabbed his chin turning his head from side to side with little care their grip cruel. They investigated every inch of his body as if they were sizing him up for the best cut, preparing him for dinner. They worked quietly, hardly saying anything to each other and nothing to him.

Lance's eyes could barely focus on them, his consciousness slipping in and out while they worked. Everything felt hazy, sometimes he wasn't sure what was happening, and there were bits and pieces he couldn't remember. He lost count of the number of vials of blood they took, the samples of saliva, skin and scrapings from around his sensitive gills which made him gag. His skin crawled as their hands moved all over his body unable to do anything to stop them.

After a while, they untied his legs, and Lance willed his body to move, willed the ugly limbs to obey him so he could kick them, but he couldn't even wiggle his toes. Another needle was stabbed into his thigh and Lance would have hissed if he could, but he couldn't make a sound.

For a moment nothing happened, and the people showed their first sign of emotion, an emotion that wasn't cold and calculating. They looked disappointed, and Lance just about managed a weak smirk. Whatever it was his body wasn't giving it to them, or so he thought.

Then he felt the change, this time painful and twisted as his body was forced back into its true form against his will. Lance wanted to scream, but no sound came out of his open mouth. The people smiled and went about taking measurements and samples from his tail. Poking and prodding his scales scrapping sharp, silver instruments along them that sent a shiver through Lance's body.

Fear settled heavily in his gut. He passed out.

After the people in white had taken everything they wanted Lance was dragged back to the room and left on the floor where he regained some semblance of consciousness. He was dizzy and disoriented, but he knew enough to know he was no longer tied down, no longer on that chair but back in the room with his stale puddle of water.

He dragged himself over to the water his progress slow, his breathing laboured. It took all of his strength to just travel that few feet. He curled up in the shallow puddle trembling. They'd forced his tail, forced his transformation.

He felt ill.

 

* * *

 

Shiro came again. Lance had no idea how much later it was, but he was still shaking from the experience and hadn't moved from the position he'd fallen in.

“Lance?” Shiro approached cautiously worry lacing his voice. Lance didn't hiss, didn't throw water at him. He didn't even move.

“I bought more tuna for you,” Shiro called encouragingly lifting the tray he carried up to show off the meal. He'd opted to go with the tray today, trusting Lance not to ruin the food by throwing water at him.

Even the smell of tuna didn't rouse Lance.

Shiro moved closer and stopped at the edge of Lance's pathetic excuse for a pool.

“Lance, aren't you hungry?” He asked crouching down he held the tray out, tempting. Lance curled up tighter on himself and looked away. Shiro frowned hesitating for a moment before he stood.

“I'm coming closer,” Shiro said his tone becoming firm but still worried. He paused for a moment, giving Lance the opportunity to protest but still, there was no reaction. Concern driving him forward Shiro took a step into the water without any further hesitation. The water rippled around his feet, from his footsteps and nothing more. Lance wasn't trying to move the water, he didn't hiss or even move. It was almost as if he'd given up altogether and Shiro's heart sank.

“Lance, can you sit up? What's wrong?” Shiro knelt in the water beside the boy, not caring that his trousers were getting wet.

There was no reply. Lance closed his eyes, and up close Shiro realised how his clammy and pale his tan skin was.

“I'm going to help you up ok?” Again he voiced his intent, and again there was no protest. Shiro placed the tray down next to him. The shallow water wasn't deep enough to rise over the edge of the tray, so there was no need to worry.

Lance tensed curling up tighter trying to turn away, but the movement was small, weak. Shiro's hands wrapped around his shoulders one warm and rough with callouses, the other cold and hard, both held him gently.

“You're cold...” Shiro commented softly, chewing his lip anxiously as he helped Lance sit up and moved him so he could lean against the wall. Shiro sat next to him a strong, broad shoulder helping to prop Lance up. Lance's head fell heavily against Shiro. He didn't have the strength to stop it.

“I'm always cold...” he muttered in reply as Shiro reached for the tray pulling it onto his lap. At the sound of Lance's voice, the man froze for a moment, a smile shifting over his lips before his expression shifted back to one of worry.

“Oh? Do you want the shirt? You still haven't put it on….”

“No….it's the way my body works, my body may feel cold, but I'm not cold.” Lance wasn't sure why he was talking to Shiro, maybe because Shiro was the only one there to talk to, the only one who tried. Lance had always been very social. He missed talking.

“So you're ok?” Shiro sounded doubtful, but Lance nodded, so he made no move to get up and fetch the shirt.

“How do you feel about eating something?” He pushed the tray towards Lance.

Lance's limbs felt heavy, he wasn't sure he could lift his arms although the food did smell tempting. There was more of that tuna making his mouth water. He felt sick, but he wanted to eat it.

“Do you want me to feed you?” Shiro asked with such grave seriousness as if he really would feed him like he was a defenceless guppy, that Lance's arm moved unconsciously, grabbing the tuna soaked bread he lifted it to his mouth and took small, quick bites. He felt Shiro's shoulder shake with a chuckle, and scowled.

“Are you feeling sick? You should say if you're unwell maybe they can give you something?” Shiro suggested. Lance tensed.

“Not sick. Don't need anything.” Lance said too quickly before stuffing a large bite of the sandwich into his mouth so he wouldn't have to say anymore.

“Oh, ok...” Shiro seemed genuinely confused at Lance's reaction, as if he really had no idea what had happened, what they'd just done to him. Lance took another angry bite of the sandwich so he wouldn't have to think too much about it.

Shiro was one of them. He couldn't trust him even if he was nice.

“Do you need anything else?” Shiro asked filling the awkward silence.

“More water,” Lance said, the words coming out more pleading and desperate than he'd intended. He shoved another bite of the sandwich into his mouth.

“I'll see what I can do,” Shiro promised.

“Speaking off, you should try to drink something,” he added picking up a plastic cup from the tray that contained some liquid Lance knew wasn't water.

Lance snatched it from him and tipped some of the contents out onto his hand a part of him hoping that he was mistaken, that his powers were just that weak. The liquid flowed over his hand, like any other liquid, but his powers could not manipulate it. It was like trying to catch an eel, slimy and slippery, evading his grip before he could close his fingers around it. The not-water tipped over his palm, dropped on his thigh and plopped into the water where he sat.

“This is not water,” Lance said brandishing the cup accusingly at Shiro. Lance didn't need to drink water, he could absorb the moisture he needed through his skin and scales, and although the stale water wasn't the best he wasn't quite desperate enough to drink this strange not-water.

“No …? Well, I mean it is water, it just has some added vitamins and stuff so you can get your strength up,” Shiro explained trying not to sound as uncertain as he felt. He had no idea what was in the water. As far as he knew it was just normal water, but it was feasible that some vitamins or something else had been added to it to aid Lance's recovery.

“I'm not drinking it,” stubbornly Lance continued to hold the cup out to Shiro indicating that he should take it from him.

“You have to drink something,” Shiro said firmly shooting Lance a look that was achingly familiar. A look that his older siblings shot him whenever they wanted him to do something he was being stubborn about, the stern, 'if you don't do it I'll tell mom' kind of big brother look. He scowled at Shiro over the cup as he bought it to his lips to take a small sip.

“Disgusting,” he pulled a face after drinking it, scowling at Shiro again before he downed the rest in one, knowing he wouldn't get away with anything less.

After he'd finished his meal and drank the strange not-water they sat in silence for a while longer, Shiro staying with Lance until he was sure the boy was able to sit up and move on his own. He knew that he couldn't stay for too long though, as much as he wanted to watch over the strange boy and make sure he was ok.

So, reluctantly he got up gathering up the tray with him.

“I'll be back later, I'll bring more tuna again,” he said still trying to cheer the quiet boy up.

“Try getting something a little fresher. Some salmon or something else wouldn't hurt,” Lance sneered, the snappy attitude showing that he was at least feeling a little better.

He lifted his hand as Shiro walked to the door, a wave of his fingers drawing out the water that had soaked into the legs of Shiro's trousers. The tug of the water pulled Shiro to a stop, made him turn around as he watched the little stream leave his clothes and move to Lance's hand.

“This water is too precious for me to waste on you,” Lance huffed though he was smirking at the wide-eyed expression of amazement on Shiro's face. He looked like an innocent boy, eyes filled with such wonder that Lance wanted to show off even more.

“That's amazing….” Shiro breathed.

Lance just shrugged, his grin growing cocky.

“This is nothing. You should see what I can do out at sea.” He bragged forming a section of the water into a ball he threw it at Shiro's head. It was a small amount, only a playful splash, so he didn't call the water back. Shiro laughed.

“Maybe you can show me one day, Lance,” Shiro chuckled as he left. The door shut with a thud behind him, and Lance felt more alone than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2. Thank you so much for everyone who's commented and kudos so far I appreciate every single one of you you guys keep me motivated. This story has ended up being longer than anticipated so who knows how many chapters this will be...but I'm excited to write it all.

Worried for Lance, and proving that he couldn't refuse a person in need, the next time Shiro visited he brought a tin of tuna and a tin salmon with him, much to Lance's disgust.

“What is this? Why do you keep doing this to fish?” Lance demanded accusingly shooting Shiro a look as if he suspected he was personally responsible for the crime. He then turned his scowl to the tin, the salmon which he'd decided to eat first, and sniffed the contents dubiously.

Shiro had been too anxious to check on Lance, and make sure he was ok, so he hadn't wasted any time in getting to Lance's room, which meant he didn't have the change to sneak the fish into the bread rations as he had been doing. He walked into the room with the unaltered ration on the tray and two tins hidden in his pocket, which he gave to Lance as they were, thinking the boy might get a kick out of them. It caused more of a fuss than he'd anticipated and not the happy, excited kind he'd hoped for. Shiro was quickly learning that Lance had a flair for the dramatic and no filter between his thoughts and what came out of his mouth, but he was animated and so alive that Shiro didn't really mind, even if Lance was complaining to him.

“Well it keeps it fresh for a long time, and it's convenient. Plus it's easier to smuggle in than a whole, fresh fish. I think someone would notice that," Shiro retorted cheekily almost daring Lance to answer back.

“You could have tried,” Lance huffed with a roll of his eyes rising to Shiro's challenge without a hint of hesitation. He had absolutely no shame.

“This,” Lance said firmly, shaking the can at Shiro, “this is not fresh!”

Shiro laughed which only caused Lance's scowl to deepen.

“And why do you insist on cutting it up so small?” Lance added poking at the mushy chunks. He still hadn't eaten any of it though Shiro could see how wet his lips were, his tongue darting out to lick them every now and then in anticipation.

“So it will fit in the can,” Shiro answered smartly a smug little grin growing on his face which made Lance grit his teeth.

If Lance was going to be difficult, then Shiro could be just as difficult. It was rather childish, but he couldn’t help himself, he felt oddly comfortable around Lance, it felt easy, natural. He was currently doing his best to hold in a laugh, but it was hard, especially with the way Lance ranted so passionately about the state of the fish.

“This is criminal you shouldn't treat fish like this. It tastes much better fresh, real fresh!” Lance huffed digging his fingers into the can he scooped up a generous portion and shoved it messily into his mouth. He got a lot of it on his lips and in the corner of his mouth but he didn't seem to care. After swallowing the mouthful, he licked his lips clean and slurped up the briny water from his fingers proving he had absolutely no table manners.

Despite all his complaining, Lance ate with the gusto of someone digging in to the most delicious meal they'd ever tasted.

“Watch your fingers, the edge of the can is sharp,” Shiro warned as Lance dug his fingers in again to scoop up another helping of the salmon chunks.

Lance stuck his tongue out at the warning and continued eating as he had been without showing any sign of caution.

Shiro let out a long sigh closing his eyes for a moment, scrunching them closed just a little tighter in irritation before he let out another, shorter sigh and let it go. If Lance cut his fingers, then he would learn the hard way.

It was likely that Lance was supposed to be on a strict diet, at least that was what Shiro figured (not that anyone would tell him anything). The meals were carefully prepared and planned out by the people looking after him, Doctors who knew what they were doing. Doubtlessly they were made to provide Lance with the correct balance of nutrients and energy, and it was not Shiro's job to question their contents or anything else for that matter. His only task was to take the meals to Lance and make sure he ate everything, but...it wasn't as if he'd been expressly forbidden from giving Lance little treats, so it was probably ok. As long as Lance ate then what did it matter?

Right?

There was a lot Shiro was beginning to question about Lance and why he was here.

For one, why was he being kept in such a strange, bare room? And why was he constantly naked even though he had been offered clothes? Shiro could at least figure out that Lance had an aversion to clothing (the shirt Shiro left on the bed hadn't been touched), but he was none the wiser as to why, and why the Doctors would allow Lance to continue to sit around in such a state. It couldn't be good for him.

Shiro assumed that Lance was ill, in some way, and was at the facility so he could be treated while he recovered from….whatever it was. Something that the GALRA scientists were probably treating, much as they had for Shiro once. But as much as Shiro racked his brain, and stretched his imagination, he could think of no illness that would explain the oddities that surrounded Lance and the way he was being cared for. His room was hardly comforting or clean as a hospital room should be. There weren't even any windows making the small, dank room feel even more claustrophobic.

Truthfully it gave Shiro the creeps. It was more like Lance was a prisoner rather than a patient.

Before he first set foot in Lance room, Shiro had only seen the public, more hospitable façade of the GALRA medical/science facility affiliated with the Garrison. Before that day Shiro hadn't even known a place like this existed, hidden behind many doors and levels of security clearance, monitored closely by the lead scientist herself, Haggar. A mysterious and calculating woman whom Shiro both respected and feared, though he could not pinpoint why. Even after she saved his life, there was something he found undeniably unsettling about her.

Shiro knew so little, and every time he tried to ask questions he was rebuffed. That coupled with the strange living conditions provided to Lance gave Shiro a bit of a devil may care attitude when it came to giving the boy extra food. Besides, it was fun to watch him. Shiro had never seen someone eat with such messy enthusiasm and clear irritation at the same time.

“I'm glad, you're looking a lot better today,” Shiro commented his voice soft with relief as he watched Lance, the words slipping out without him noticing. Lance's dark skin held a healthier glow, no longer looking grey and clammy, and there was more life to his expression and movements.

Lance paused, fingers hooked in his mouth midway through licking them clean of the salty salmon juices, Shiro's words reminding him abruptly of the state he'd been in the previous time, and what they'd done to him. Not that he'd forgotten it all, of course. It was impossible to forget something like that. He could still feel their hands roaming every inch of his body with cold indifference, touching and groping him, prodding him with their fingers and other instruments. He was shaken to his very core, but Lance handled it as he did most things things that upset him, by pushing it down and ignoring it as much as he could, acting out, behaving more boisterous and pretending he was happy in order to drown out the voice screaming in the back of his head.

His current predicament made it harder to ignore, however, and although Shiro's presence helped, an innocent comment like that brought everything rushing back. He was scared and confused, frightened of what they might do next, what else they might want from him. They cared enough to keep him alive, for now, but it was hardly a comfortable existence, given only enough to survive and no more. One day, it probably wouldn't be enough.

Swallowing down the fear that threatened to choke him, he refused to let a human, even Shiro, see how afraid he truly was, Lance pulled his fingers from his mouth with an audible pop and shot Shiro a confident, cocky grin. “I'm fine,” he scoffed.

“That other time was just, you know, a bad day,” Lance added with a dismissive wave of his hand as if he'd already forgotten all about it. It wasn't just the fear that ate away at him, unsettling him. He barely suppressed a cringe as the sheer humiliation of being seen by Shiro in such a weak, pathetic state. The shame still bubbled in his chest, a feeling that he was not allowed to forget, not trapped in this place.

Shiro's smile fell almost as soon when Lance's cocky grin appeared. He gazed at Lance critically, searching for anything that might give the other boy away. He had seen it for just a moment, a flash of fear and mistrust. He saw the uncertainty in Lance's eyes, but the boy was too quick in pulling up his mask, and the expression was gone before Shiro could get a closer look and try to puzzle out what was really wrong.

He wasn't fooled, and Shiro gaze remained fixed on Lance, steady and unblinking, trying to catch him out in the lie. Lance responded in kind, his smile never faltering, bright blue eyes sparkling almost convincingly. He continued to eat with his fingers, scooping up the fish chunks then licking his fingers clean in a slow, deliberate way that soon had Shiro looking away his cheeks flaming. Lance bit back a chuckle by shovelling another mouthful of salmon into his mouth.

His secret was safe, for now.

“Here, don't forget the tuna,” Shiro sputtered, grabbing the other tin that sat on the floor next to him. He tore the lid off in one sharp movement, then his arm snapped out, presenting the tin to Lance his gaze fixed on the floor avoiding looking at the boy all together. Lance hadn't even finished the salmon yet, which proved just how flustered Shiro was.

Lance smirked but decided against tormenting Shiro any further, he had been kind enough to bring him decent food after all. Shovelling what remained of the salmon into his mouth in a hurry, Lance tossed the empty tin to the floor and snatched the offered tuna from Shiro without a single word of thanks.

He ate the tuna with just as much gusto and by the time he was finishing off the last bits, drinking what remained of the brine from the can, Shiro had recovered enough to meet his gaze again, his cheeks free of the pretty pink flush.

Lance dropped the second empty tin when he was done causing Shiro to shoot him the 'disapproving brother' look again that he seemed well practised at. A scolding look that required no words. Lance huffed turning away sticking his chin up in the air ignoring it. He tried not to squirm too much under the force of Shiro's glare.

Shiro was the first one to crack. It really didn't feel right to scold Lance or be too strict with him considering his current situation. Sighing Shiro gathered up the empty tins himself dropping them on the tray so he could take them with him. The tray was empty now Shiro having convinced (bribed) Lance into eating his rations first before he allowed him to have the tins of fish. He’d even managed to get Lance to drink some of the whatever-it-was water too.

“Oh, I brought you something else too!” Shiro said suddenly midway through organising the empty bowls and tins on the tray. He stopped what he was doing and pushed the tray aside hurridely. The shout and sudden movement startled Lance making him sit up stiff and straight staring at Shiro with wide-eyed accusation.

“Sorry,” Shiro smiled sheepishly at him digging his hand into the large front pocket of his baggy sweatshirt, which Lance only now noted was at odds with the close fitting clothes he usually wore.

“Here!” Shiro said with a flourish a moment later as he pulled a bottle out of his pocket and presented it to Lance with a proud grin.

“What is it?” Lance asked craning his head from side to side as he studied the bottle in Shiro's hand. He didn't take it from Shiro not really sure what he was supposed to do with it and not entirely trusting it.

“Water,” Shiro answered his eyes grew bright with excitement, though a second later it seemed to dim as he looked apologetic again.

“I know it’s not a lot and it’s just bottled water. I did ask them about giving you some more fresh water but…” he trailed off helplessly. Shiro’s suggestions on how to make Lance more comfortable had been brushed off with a brisk ‘he has what he needs’, and then he was shooed away his worries ignored. He'd even spoken directly to Haggar about it thinking she might listen but she had been even more dismissive, and in fact had seemed almost angry at his interference. She may be small, but she had a powerful aura and was far more intimidating than any commander he'd ever met.

Here Shiro was utterly outranked with no power to change anything, there was little he could do.

“It's fresh though,” he finished with a little false cheer as he opened the bottle and tilted it towards Lance. Lance leaned forward sniffing the air around the bottle cautiously. The smell of fresh, clean water hit him like a rush, and he surged forwards, scrambling almost desperately in his thirst to get to the water. He seemed as if he would jump into the bottle if he could.

“It’s clean!” Lance exclaimed emotion shining in his eyes that looked like he was holding back tears. He lifted his hands towards the bottle like a prayer and right before Shiro’s eyes the water rose out of the bottle and into Lance’s hands. Shiro's grip on the bottle slacked for a moment almost dropping it before his sharp reflexes caught up, and he tightened his grip righting the bottle as Lance drew the last few drops from it with a graceful wave.

“It's so much easier to move...” Lance marvelled to himself as he formed the orb of water that hovered above his hands into a variety of different shapes, mostly various sea creatures. After a few moments of weaving the clean water between his fingers, forming it into whales and dolphins and other larger creatures Lance split the water into smaller shapes eventually forming what looked like a school of fish. He moved them around making them swim back and forth above his hands then sending them further out making a circle around Shiro's head which did make him drop the empty bottle and go cross-eyed as one swam right in front of his nose. Lance laughed.

“See what I can do with clean water! Now imagine if I was out at sea...home...” Lance bragged, his eyes watering. He was showing off, being cocky but he was incredibly touched by the gesture, and the fresh water alone helped him feel loads better.

“Are you crying?” Shiro teased his tone gentle and fond.

“Of course not,” Lance scoffed even as a few tears slipped down his cheeks that he made no effort to wipe away.

Shiro laughed though his laughter was abruptly cut off as one of the water fish bumped against his nose, splashing him.

“Thank you, Shiro,” Lance said drawing the fish back to him he formed the water into an orb again and cradled it to his chest as if it were something precious.

“You're welcome, just keep it our secret ok,” Shiro whispered conspiringly shooting Lance a wink.

“Pssh who am I going to tell, the walls?” Lance rolled his eyes though he curled forward around the orb of water protectively. He wasn't going to let them take it away from him.

Shiro knew he had lingered for too long already, he was only supposed to bring the food, stay long enough to make sure Lance ate then leave. He had to leave before they got suspicious and came to check on him, but he was reluctant. The way Lance hugged the water, clung on to it like a lifeline tugged at something in his chest that made him feel almost guilty.

But he had to leave.

“Ok. I'll be back with your next meal later, stay out of trouble until then,” he said lightly in an attempt to tease. It sounded weak even to his own ears. He shuffled reluctantly towards the door his eyes lingering on Lance for longer than usual.

“Only if you bring me some more of that awful tinned fish next time!” Lance yelled after him. Shiro left with a small smile.

 

* * *

 

Lance sat quietly for a while, cradling the sphere of water to his chest lost in thought. Well, it wasn't as if there was much else for him to do. After a few long, still moments he directed the water away from him towards his legs letting it swirl around his limbs. He sighed, tilting his head back in pure bliss as the clean, fresh water soothed the strange skin that had formed over his scales. His legs had been feeling unbearably itchy and dry since they'd forced his transformation. Even though his scales were protected by the layer of skin he still needed to keep it moist and the stagnant weeks' old water just wasn't good enough.

Maybe it was time he tried to use them, he thought to himself. It seemed he was going to be stuck this way for a while so he would have more of an advantage if he could walk, and he was starting to get tired of dragging his body and flopping around like a fish on land whenever he wanted to move. If he could walk then maybe he could run, and if he could run and if there was an opportunity, maybe he could escape.

But first, he had to learn to walk.

“Right. If those humans can do it then it can't be that hard!” He said determinedly with a sharp nod of his head.

Standing was the first challenge. He was somewhat dubious that the two thin sticks he had for legs would be strong enough to hold him up. When he kicked them they were nowhere near as powerful as his tail, but he had to try. He shuffled back, pressing his back hard against the smooth, cold wall he stole himself for the first attempt. He kept swirling the water around his legs, tightening his power so the water squeezed around his calves.

“I can do this,” he psyched himself up pressing his back harder against the wall he dug his heels into the floor in an attempt to get some sort of purchase. The ground was wet and slippery, and he should probably move out of the puddle, but that would involve more crawling and dragging his body across the floor. Quite frankly he felt he had gone through enough indignity for a lifetime he was not going to drag himself around unnecessarily, even if there was no one there to see him.

Tensing his whole body Lance pushed his hands against the floor, pressed his feet down harder and pushed his body up. His upper body rose slowly, his hands shuffling to the wall, feet scrabbling against the floor as he pushed himself higher and higher using the wall as a brace.

He slipped once falling hard on his ass and only just managed to catch himself in time and keep the water swirling around his legs. He swore loudly, his voice echoed around the dim room and reached every dark empty corner reminding him just how small and closed off it was. A shock of loneliness washed over him, but he forced it aside, ignored it. Scowling to himself Lance bit down hard on his lower lip and growled to himself. He would not give up. He could do this.

Pushing himself back against the wall again he moved more slowly and cautiously shuffling his hands and feet inch by inch, giving himself ample time to adjust to each shift. He willed his legs to be steady and tightened the swirl of water around them to give himself more strength. They were such gangly awkward things shaking and fighting against him as he tried to put more weight on them.

Lance huffed irritably and glared at his legs, muttering curses in an intelligible tongue threatening them to obey him. He scrabbled against the wall and stamped his feet down with fierce determination, and although his progress was painfully slow, he finally managed to push himself up the last few inches onto his feet.

“Ha see, told you I could do it!” He crowed to the empty room even as his knees buckled under the unfamiliar weight.

Everything felt weird and wrong. Lance kept his back and hands pressed against the wall, and waited until his legs had stopped shaking so much before trying to put more weight on them. Once the trembling stopped and he felt steadier, he pushed himself away from the wall standing up straighter. He wobbled and fell back with a huff, but he was still standing.

“Ok, a little slower then.” He urged, egging himself on. Catching his breath he waited a little longer, holding still even as his legs stopped shaking and he felt steady.

After several moments of standing, most of his weight leaning against the wall, Lance pushed himself away again, moving even more carefully he shifted his weight forward little by little. Eventually, he was able to support his whole body weight on both feet, with only his hands pressed against the wall to help him keep his balance. He swayed and wobbled and felt strangely dizzy now that he was so far up off the ground, but he'd done it. He was standing all on his own.

“There! Nothing to it!” Lance puffed his chest out proudly, his heart still racing. It had taken him a lot of effort just to stand, a sign of how weak his body had become. His success buoyed him, his confidence pushed him forward despite the shortness of breath and racing heartbeat. He'd mastered standing so easily, so walking was bound to be a piece of cake. Sure it would be a little more complicated, he would need to think about moving both legs, moving each of them in turn in a way he never had to do with his tail, but it was just a matter of placing one foot in front of the other. Just a few small steps, if he could do that then he could sit down. Just a few steps.

“If those silly humans can do it,” he muttered to himself as he stubbornly lifted one foot and slid it forward.

Lance didn't get any further as the sudden movement threw him off balance, not strong enough to stand and balanced on one leg, he fell on to his knees landing face first onto the floor. The sudden fall shocked him into losing control of the fresh, clean water he'd been swirling around his legs. Fresh, clean water he'd been trying to keep away from the stagnant water that had been there long before he arrived. It dropped away with a splash mixing with the dirty water. Tainted.

Lance wailed not from the pain that shot through his knees and nose, but from the loss of the precious clean water. He could try to separate it, the cleaner water would react differently to him, and he might be able to recover some of it...but it wouldn't be the same.

The cold feeling of helplessness returned, surging to the surface where he could no longer ignore it. It drowned him in the fear and loneliness he'd been trying to hide from, and taunted him with the cold reality that he was trapped with no hope for escape. He curled into a tight ball crying at the pain in his heart and the pain in his knees.

No one came, no matter how hard he wept.

 

* * *

 

Lance cried himself to sleep. A deep, dreamless sleep of pure fatigue that didn't leave him feeling at all rested. He woke with a start, a rush of adrenalin making his heart pound. It was the first time he slept so deeply since his capture. What if they'd come for him? What if they'd done something? His eyes darted around the room, searching for anything different, anything dangerous, but as usual, it was all the same.

Nothing had changed. No one had been there, not even Shiro.

Lance let out a shaky sigh and rolled over onto his back, lying still he took several deep breaths focusing on calming his breathing. He couldn't lose himself in hopelessness, he couldn't give up. His head hurt from crying, he could feel the dry tear trails on his cheeks making his skin feel tight, and snot dribbled from his nose crusting on his upper lip. He was a mess. It was a relief Shiro hadn't been yet and seen him in such a pathetic state again. It would be too much for him to take if anyone saw him like that again.

Once he'd collected himself Lance let out a sharp huff and pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain that shot through his legs. He's landed pretty hard on his knees, and now they were swollen and bruised large purple and blue blemishes mottling his skin. The legs looked even uglier than ever. He grimaced and looked away hoping Shiro wouldn't notice and ask questions.

Lance turned his attention to the water around him. It felt different, now that the fresh water was mixed in with it, but it was still unpleasant. He reached out with his powers and used all of his focus to filter out the fresher water, and call only that to his hand. It was a tiring, draining task that zapped at his physical and mental strength, but it wasn't quite as hopeless as he'd feared. He managed to draw out a portion of it, it wasn't the full amount, and the once clear water now had a certain grey murkiness too it, but it was enough. Enough for him to freshen up and wash his face without flinching. He hoped it would be enough to rinse away any signs of his crying.

Now that he'd recovered somewhat there was nothing else for Lance to do but wait and wonder if it would be Shiro who came into the room next, or one of those cold, uncaring men. He swirled what remained of the clean water between his hands.

One thing was for certain, he wasn't going to try standing again any time soon.

 

* * *

 

Some time later Shiro came through the door the usual tray in hand and a keen grin that fell the moment he saw Lance.

“What happened to your face?” He demanded. With a clatter Shiro set the tray down on the floor, almost upsetting its contents in his hurry. He all but ran the few steps across the room, before crouching down in front of Lance at the edge of the water.

“What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with my face!” Lance shot back before covering his face with his hand. His nose was sore, only brushing his hand lightly against it made him flinch, and although it didn't hurt as much as his knees, he wondered if it was covered with the same blotchy purple marks. Damn, he hadn't thought of that.

Shiro raised one eyebrow, and his searching grey eyes scanned Lance up and down, looking for any other signs of injury. Apparently, Lance's nudity no longer affected him.

“You knees are bruised too. What happened?” Shiro pressed a little more urgently, searing grey unwaveringly meeting the blue eyes that peeked out at him over slender fingers.

The red nose and bruised knees, Shiro put two and two together fairly easily.

“Did you fall?” His tone coaxing and gentle, didn't ridicule Lance for having fallen. He just wanted to make sure he was ok.

“No, I did not,” Lance met his gaze with a stubborn pout of denial Shiro knew well. It was a look he remembered clearly from his youth when he and Keith were both kids. Even when Keith fell right in front of him, and stood there with his knees scrapped and face covered in dirt, he would look Shiro right in the eye and deny that he had fallen in the first place too proud to admit it. Lance had a similar pride and stubbornness.

Shiro shook his head.

“What were you doing? Did you want the shirt?” Shiro asked, glancing over to the bed and the untouched shirt that sat exactly where he'd left it.

“I don't need your stupid human clothes,” Lance huffed. Dropping his hands away from his face he directed the full brunt of his glare at Shiro.

Shiro was too distracted by his red, slightly swollen nose to be affected. It didn't look broken, and as far as he could see there was no bleeding, but it looked sore. He wished he could offer Lance some ice, or even a damp cloth to soothe it but the room had nothing. He could speak to the Doctors and ask for something cold, but then he would have to tell them Lance had hurt himself, and last time Shiro suggested that Lance reacted pretty negatively. For now he would say nothing.

“It is a good idea for you to stretch your legs,” Shiro said brightly, changing the subject. He got to his feet and picked up the tray carrying it far out of Lance's reach, over to the metal bed. Lance's eyes followed him suspiciously.

Shiro turned around and shot Lance a dazzling smile that looked far too impish for Lance's liking. Stopping at the edge of the water again Shiro crouched down. “Come on, I'll help you up,” he offered, holding his hands out invitingly, Shiro curled his fingers coaxing Lance to hold on.

Lance backed away. “No thank you!” The very idea of trying to stand again was horrible, and having Shiro help him was even worse, but Shiro would not be deterred so easily.

“It's only a few steps to the bed. You can eat there today for a change, it will be good for you.”

Lance crossed his arms over his chest and turned away.

“I brought two tins of tuna.”

Tuna. Lance flinched, his head turning towards Shiro ever so slightly, torn. He wanted the tuna.

“If you don't try moving your legs, and build up your strength it will only get harder for you to walk. They might never work again,” Shiro warned, full big brother mode activated, there was a deadpan seriousness to his expression and a hint of teasing in the crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

Lance's arms dropped to his sides, and he turned sharply towards Shiro, a blur of dark hair, tanned skin, and wide blue eyes.

“What? Really? Can they just stop working like that? Is that how they work?” Lance blurted out. He'd fallen for every word.

“Yes...kind of,” Shiro answered doing his best to sound convincing. He hadn't expected Lance to believe him so completely. Although there was some truth to his words, Shiro didn't really know how long periods of not using his legs might affect Lance, or what was wrong with them in the first place.

“If you don't work your muscles properly then they can get weaker and not work as well. Then you'll have to build up the strength in them again, and that will take time, so you should stretch your legs a bit before they get too weak.”

Gazing at the offered hands Lance hesitated, curling up on himself for a moment. He was anxious about standing again, frightened of falling and making a fool of himself in front of Shiro, but he didn't want his legs to become completely useless. If they did, then it might affect his tail too. He may not be able to swim as fast, or worse, might never be able to swim again at all. Thoughts of the worst case scenario driving him forward Lance grabbed Shiro's hands, holding onto them desperately. Even if it meant trying to walk again, and embarrassing himself countless times over, Lance refused to risk losing his tail. He would do anything.

Shiro's fingers curled around his hands in return, gentle but firm. He didn't flinch when Lance touched his cold prosthesis this time, either not minding it or simply too focused on helping Lance to consider it.

“Ready?” Shiro smiled, but he didn't even wait for Lance's reply. He squeezed the boy's hands, and a moment later Shiro rose to his feet pulling Lance with him as if he weighed nothing.

Lance's grip on Shiro's hands became almost crushing, and he let out an undignified squeak as he found himself hoisted to his feet with an almost dizzying suddenness, vertigo making him sway and making his legs wobbly, but Shiro was there, holding his hands, steadying him.

“It's ok, I've got you. Now take it easy. Get your balance first,” Shiro soothed, his thumb swiping across the back of Lance's hand. He took a small step closer, meeting Lance's swaying to ensure he didn't fall. Lance's hands shook in his, and he gave a sound that almost sounded like fright, but Shiro didn't comment on it and just allowed the boy get his bearings.

“How does that feel?”

Lance scowled, looking terribly unhappy and annoyed. “Horrible! How do you put up with this?” Lance exclaimed, frustration evident in his voice. From the way he spoke, it was as if he'd never walked before, but Shiro pushed that thought to the back of his mind. There were far too many questions surrounding Lance, he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He had to focus on the task at hand.

“You'll get used to it,” he answered with a chuckle giving Lance's hands what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. Lance still gripped his hands so tight that Shiro's flesh and blood hand was tingling with pins and needles.

“This is so...” Lance wobbled and swayed dangerously, stumbling to one side. Shiro's grip didn't falter, his arms locked, firm and immobile bracing Lance.

“-inefficient!” Lance finished with a snarl.

“Legs are stupid!”

After some further muttering and cursing, and more swaying back and forth that made Lance look drunk, he finally seemed to get his trembling limbs under control.

“You're doing great. Let's try taking a step forward,” Shiro encouraged, taking half a step back.

“No, wait!” Lance yelped surging after Shiro in panic. He stumbled and fell against Shiro's chest.

“I wasn't ready...” he muttered miserably. Shiro stood frozen for a moment, his gaze fixed down on Lance who didn't seem willing to make any attempt to right himself. This close Shiro could see a spattering of dark freckles spread over his shoulders, arms, and down his back. Freckles that seemed to cover where Shiro was sure he had seen shimmering blue scales the very first time he saw him. He shifted his grip on Lance's hands, pulling them closer.

“Sorry. Take your time.” Shiro went through the whole process of helping Lance to stand upright, giving him ample time to get steady on his feet again. He had to take things more slowly with Lance, and he may end up staying longer than he should, but Shiro was willing to take the risk even if it got him into trouble with his superiors.

“Ok. I think I got it,” Lance said shakily after a while. His grip on Shiro's hands had loosened slightly, and although his knees trembled he was able to stand without swaying quite so much.

“Good. You're doing very well. Now I'm going to take a small step back again. When you're ready, I want you to try to take a step forward. I'll be holding your hands, and I'll catch you if you fall, so only move when you're ready, okay.” Shiro explained what he planned to do this time and waited for Lance's nod of acknowledgement before he took the small step back giving Lance space to move forward.

Lance took a deep breath and didn't move. He was still unsure, and Shiro worried he might refuse to even try taking that one small step, but after a few long drawn out moments of silent uncertainty, Lance lifted his foot just an inch off the floor and slid it forward. The foot was placed down gingerly, and Lance paused for a moment before dragging his other foot forward to meet it. Really, it was more of a slide than a step, but it was a step forward none the less.

“Good job, that's it!” Shiro cheered. Lance's scowl deepened, his expression shifting between one of embarrassment and pride.

“Want to try another step?” Shiro offered. Lance considered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Ok same as last time,” Shiro instructed before taking another small, slow step back a little bigger than the last one. Lance followed him in his own time, still mostly dragging his feet, but he was trying, and the scowl had settled in a stubborn line of determination.

They continued at the same slow pace, covering a distance that was only maybe five or so normal steps in countless small, shuffling steps. It took a while, with Lance needing to rest between each step, but his steps grew bigger, the pauses shorter and finally they made it to the metal slab. Shiro guided Lance to sit down on it beside the tray of food, only letting go of his hands when he was sure he was ok.

“There that wasn't so bad now was it?” Shiro said brightly.

“That was awful,” Lance shot back flatly, slumping where he sat. He looked out of breath and more than a little fed up, but there was a hint of pride to the set of his shoulders that Shiro took as a good sign.

“Are all legs this weak?” Lance asked smacking his thigh with a curled fist as his legs continued to shake even though he was sitting.

“You just need to build up your strength,” Shiro said gently. He grabbed Lance wrist and pulled his hand away to stop the other from hitting himself. “Don't beat yourself up, your legs are doing their best.”

“Hmph!” Lance threw his head back, defiant, but he uncurled his fist. Shiro let go of his wrist.

“But my legs are so skinny. Do they need to be bigger?” Without warning Lance leaned forward and wrapped both his hands around one of Shiro's thighs, giving it an experimental squeeze.

Shiro would never admit that he'd let out a high pitch yelp at that before stumbling out of Lance' grip. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice going a little higher.

“Your legs are twice the size of mine and they look so strong. Look how thin mine are!” Lance wrapped his hands around his own thigh, lifting it awkwardly while still sitting the movement causing him to lean back slightly putting everything on show.

“See!” he demanded.

Shiro looked away from Lance's exposed thigh and what lay beyond, his cheeks flaming. Clearing his throat with a sharp cough he gestured in the general direction of the dinner tray beside Lance. He refused to look at the bed.

“You're legs aren't too thin, just a little out of practice probably. You need to build up your strength, now eat.”

Lance grinned, his smile becoming Cheshire cat-like as he lowered his leg and sat properly again. Shiro had gone such a brilliant shade of red it was fascinating. He would have to remember that trick for next time.

Turning towards the tray Lance snatched up one of the promised tins of tuna. He turned it over in his hands, looking for the little tab he'd see Shiro pull to open it, but even when he found it, the tab lay flat against the lid, and he couldn't get his finger around it. Hearing Lance's huffs of frustration, Shiro, his cheeks still bright pink, finally glanced over at him again. He resisted the urge to offer help, or take the tin from Lance and open it for him. Lance wouldn't appreciate it, and he needed to do the things he could do on his own, Shiro understood that. Unconsciously, he curled his prosthetic hand into a loose fist.

It took several tries, and many curses, but Lance finally managed to hook his nail under the tab, lifting it enough to then hook his finger around it and finally rip the lid off with a triumphant cry. He tossed the lid to the floor and dug into the tuna with his usual lack of manners, using his fingers to shovel the food into his mouth.

“Did you bring more water?” Lance asked around a mouthful of tuna, the tin already half empty.

“No...sorry...” Shiro hung his head apologetically, realising that the water was probably just as important to Lance as the extra can of tuna, but smuggling in a bottle of water was harder than a few small tins of fish. Plus, he was wary about giving Lance too much, worried that if he went overboard the Doctors would notice and that they might punish Lance for it, as well as him.

“What happened to what I gave you last time?”

“I dropped it...” Lance paused, lowering the tin, his voice small and full of sorrow.

Shiro's heart ached. “I'll bring you more tomorrow,” he promised without a second thought. Just one more bottle of water shouldn't be a problem. He'd done it once already, and as long as he took the bottle with him, no one would notice.

Lance lifted his head, blinked once and then beamed at Shiro, a bright, brilliant smile that showed off a row of white teeth and lit up the room.

Yup. It was worth the risk.

“No salmon this time?” Lance grabbed the second tin from the tray and noticed that apart from the usual rations, it was all that remained.

“Well, you complained about it so much last time,” Shiro shrugged.

Lance stared at him flabbergasted. “That doesn't mean I don't want it!” He rolled his eyes and ripped off the lid from the tin with more ease than previously. He tossed it at Shiro, and it bounced harmlessly off his arm.

“Bring two of each next time,” Lance ordered, knowing it wasn't his place to make demands, and really he was only doing it in jest, not expecting anything to come from it, but he felt comfortable enough with Shiro to do it, almost as if they were friends.

Shiro didn't answer immediately, stooping to pick up the two discarded lids from the floor. He placed them on the tray next to the empty tin (at least Lance hadn't thrown that to the floor as well).

“I'll see what I can do, but first, you have to eat the bread and vegetables.” Shiro bargained.

Lance scowled, putting down the half-empty can on the bed next to him with a hard clack. “But that stuff tastes awful!” Lance may eat the rations every time, the tins fish alone weren't enough, he had to, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it or did it without complaint.

“Why don't you try putting some of the tuna on the bread? You liked that last time.”

Lance ignored the suggestion and grabbed the bowl of mostly green vegetables, brandishing it at Shiro. “And what about this stuff? What is it?”

“Uh...peas mostly,” Shiro answered. He tried not to grimace as he recognised them as the genetically engineered, tasteless variety that were usually reserved for space missions, and although he had not been on a mission yet, Shiro had eaten more than his fair share of the stuff so that he could 'get used to it'. The bowl was almost entirely full of them as if they were trying to get rid of the foul stuff.

“Peas? I've tasted better algae than this,” Lance muttered under his breath. For a moment it seemed as if he was considering tossing the bowl at Shiro, not that Shiro could blame him, but Lance reconsidered it and grabbed one of the peas between two fingers instead, popping it into his mouth he swallowed with a shudder.

“You should probably eat more than one at a time. It'll be over quicker,” Shiro chuckled, earning a glare from Lance that made him snap his mouth shut lest the boy think twice about throwing the food at him.

Lance ate the rest of the meal with his usual grumbling that Shiro wisely did not respond to. When he was finished Lance slammed the empty bowl down before grabbing the tin with what little remained of the tuna.

“Ugh, that food leaves such a bad after-taste it makes the tuna taste bad,” he groaned. He grabbed the plastic cup of not-water that came with every meal and downed it in one, hoping it would take away the strange taste of the peas. Halfway through lowering the cup Lance paused, scrutinising it thoughtfully.

“Shiro, can I keep this thing?” It was perfect. He could extract some of the clean water again and keep it in there. It would make things so much easier, and save him having to constantly use his powers to keep the water safe. There may be a bucket tucked under the bed, but shortly after eating his first meal Lance had learned what it was for, he couldn't use that.

“I'm not sure if that's allowed...” Shiro hesitated looking away from the expressive blue, puppy dog eyes. They were hard to resist.

“Please?”

Shiro could just say that he'd forgotten to collect it, take all the blame. It was unlikely to cause any real trouble after all. It was just a plastic cup, what harm could it do? And if they decided Lance shouldn't have it, then they would just take it away.

“Ok, fine. But if someone comes back for it, you have to promise to give it back.”

“Yes!” Lance cheered, holding the cup tightly he held it high above his head like a prize.

Smiling softly Shiro collected the empty tins placing everything on the tray so he could take it with him. “Behave yourself now,” he called in parting his tone light and not too serious. Lance didn't reply, too preoccupied with the cup to notice. It was only a few moments later Lance realised he was alone and still on the raised metal bed far away from the water.

“Shiro, how do I get back? Shiro?!”

There was no answer.

Lance let out a low pitched whine and curled his fingers around the edge of the bed, his knuckles going white. He could just stay where he was until Shiro came back. All he needed to do was call some water to him, to keep his legs and skin moist, and now that he had the cup he wouldn't have to constantly use his powers. He could keep the water in the cup and just splash it over his legs as he needed it.

But he had no idea how long it would be until Shiro's next visit, and the bed was hard and cold.

Shiro's advice rang in his ears. He had to use his legs more, he had to build up his strength. He had to try.

Leaning on the bed, he managed to push himself to his feet. His legs shook, just as unsteady and weak as they had been before. Taking his time Lance waited until his legs felt steadier before taking his first step. As soon as he managed that without falling he took another, and another, making slow, shuffling progress across the room and back to the puddle. It was far more difficult now that he had nothing to hold onto. He stumbled and swayed, his legs as gangly and awkward as if he were trying to walk on ice, but he managed to make it all the way back without falling, tripping only at the very last moment when he tried to sit and couldn't quite figure out how to lower himself down without landing with a bump.

All in all, Lance saw it as a win.

He spent the next few hours playing with the water extracting some of the clean water from the puddle and transferring it to the cup, then moving it out of the cup and back again. Simple, repetitive movements that allowed him to exercise his powers without exhausting himself. There were other ways in which he needed to build up his strength, after all. His powers in this form were weaker, and the quality of the water made things worse. If he could only stay in his true form for longer, then he’d be stronger, but there was still not enough water to maintain his tail.

He would have to make do. Practising with the little water he had would help, filtering and extracting the clean water from the more stagnant, moving and shaping it until it became second nature until it didn’t take so much strength just to hold it. If he could do that and learn to walk….

 

* * *

 

They came again, the people who were not Shiro. Lance felt stronger now but was not quite as foolish having learned some measure of caution. He snarled and hissed at them, but didn't expel any more energy than that. They were as unimpressed as last time.

They flanked him, grabbed an arm each and hoisted him up. Lance let his feet drag, not wanting them to know he could use his legs, even a little, though for all he knew Shiro had told them. He hoped he hadn't. They dragged him down the same nondescript hall to the same nondescript room and strapped him down on the hard chair again.

Lance hissed and fought against them knowing it was useless but not quite having lost the urge to fight. He wasn't going to make it easy for them. Their grip was hard and bruising, they yanked on his limbs and held him down, pulling the restraints extra tight around his limbs. His struggles were hurting him more than them, but it was a small price to pay if it caused his captors trouble, if it annoyed them even a little.

His small sense of victory was short-lived as the men left and the people in bright white entered the room. He stilled growling low in his throat as they advanced on him, one of them holding the same pointy thing they'd stabbed into his arm last time. The thing that made him lose control of his body. He tried to twist and jerk away as much as the bonds would allow in the vain hope that if he didn’t keep still, they wouldn’t be able to inject him, but the person in white grabbed his arm in a crushing grip, their slender fingers cold and cruel, kept him still. The needle was stabbed into him with more force than was necessary showing Lance who was in charge and just how powerless he was.

His head fell back, the same feeling washing over him again, starting as a fuzzy sensation in his head that all too quickly spread through his whole body until he couldn’t even wiggle a single finger. He couldn't think, couldn't focus, his concentration slipping and muddying the moment he even tried.

They all turned away from him while the drug took effect, preparing various tools and instruments for the experiment with a cold indifference. Every now and then one of them would pass his field of vision, and the methodical way they prepared themselves made him shiver. It was as if they didn't acknowledge him as something living, just a specimen to study.

None of the tools and machines they were preparing looked familiar, none of them the ones they used last time which made them more frightening and made Lance's head reel. He blacked out.

When he could focus his eyes again he saw two of them hovering above him, white masks covering their faces and white caps on their head. So much white. He tried to snarl, but he couldn’t even narrow his eyes to glare at them. They didn't seem to notice that his eyes were following them, watching them, too preoccupied with a thin tube attached to some machine that beeped and whirled. They fiddled with the tube, adjusted something on the machine, and then turned their attention to him.

One grabbed his chin, yanking his head to the side to expose the small, delicate gills along his neck. They were closed, sealed tight to protect him now that he was in his human form. That wouldn't stop them.

The second one held up the small tube and directed a stream of fresh, cold salt water over his gills. It was so welcome and refreshing that for a moment Lance forgot his fear, forgot that the people in white were even there, but even if he had remembered it he was powerless to stop his bodies involuntary reaction. His gills opened, filtering out the salt, drawing in the oxygen in the water. He sucked in a deep lungful of it, breathing freely feeling some semblance of normality return. Breathing through his nose and mouth had felt so strange and uncomfortable, this was a welcome relief that he didn't question.

He didn't see the second person step closer, angling another tube against his flapping gills, sliding it beneath them and pushing it deeper into his body. Lance choked, he could feel the tube slide through his gills and down his throat. He felt like he was being strangled.

Lance gasped for air, his mouth hanging open as he tried to breath through it again. He willed his gills to close, focused as hard as he could to regain control of that part of his body, but it only gave him a headache, and anyway it was too late. One tube was there already, holding them open and more followed until there was a tube stuck between each of his gills on one side of his throat. Water continued to wash over his neck, icy and cruel. It felt more like a pair of hands choking him. It was impossible to breathe.

His eyes watered and his head swam. Lance blanked out again.

Something was pushed through the tubes, making them vibrate and rub irritable against his sensitive gills. Air was forced into his lungs and back out, but Lance's vision remained black. He felt something else being inserted along with the tubes, something that was a bit thicker and didn’t force air into his body. Breathing was painful now, and the tubes did most of the work for him while his body fought as best it could against the confusion of it all.

His vision went white.

The next thing he knew the tubes were gone although the raw feeling of being choked remained in his throat. Small square pads were attached to his chest, wires growing out of them attached to machines. They didn’t hurt, but Lance feared what they might do.

He could hear them talking amongst themselves, taking notes as they read things off the beeping machines they were studying intently, but he couldn't make out a word, their voices distorted as if he were hearing them form under water. It was impossible to even to tell what their tone was, if they were satisfied, or if they planned to go on.

After watching the machines for a while they came back turning his head to the other side to expose the gills on the opposite side of his neck, and they started all over again.

Lance would have cried if he could. Blissfully he blanked out.

When he came to the tubes were gone from his neck, but now they'd turned their attention to the larger, longer set of gills slashing across his ribcage. The tubes and wires pushed between them didn't hurt quite so much, though it still made the very act of breathing dizzying. They paid closer attention now, taking more samples, scraping things other than tubes between his gills. His gills screamed in agony, but Lance couldn't let out a sound.

Suddenly, the tubes stole control of his lung, breathing for him. Lance arched up, his mouth flapping open and closed. The tubes drew it air, held it, then released. Too slow, too shallow. It made him dizzy and light headed, and Lance was sure he was going to die. Then the tubes cut off completely, suffocating him.

The final time he blacked out Lance didn’t expect to wake up again, but he did.

He was back in his room, dumped in a heap on the floor his limbs bent at whatever odd angle they'd landed in, no consideration given to his comfort. His whole body ached from lying in such a strange position but none of that compared to the pain in his gills. They were raw and sore, and even breathing through his nose and mouth hurt.

He placed a hand around his throat and groaned softly, regretting the pained whimper a moment later as it only caused more pain. It hurt to breathe, hurt to even make a sound.

Gathering himself up Lance curled up into the nearest corner. His hands shook as he attempted to lift some of the clear water from the cup he'd stored it in earlier (by some miracle the cup was still there), but he shook so much and his head was still so fuzzy that it took several tries for him to cause so much as a ripple.

Shaking, his breathing laboured and now even more pained Lance curled the water around his neck like a scarf. It soothed the pain just a little. He ignored the pain in his chest, for now, he didn't have the strength or enough water to soothe both sets of gills.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting worse for Lance, and now he's even afraid to trust Shiro. 
> 
> Warnings: force feeding, vomiting (a small part), asphyxiation, more bad experiments for Lance to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this an update? And just in time for the end of mermay. I've been sitting on this chapter for over a year now, getting too distracted by other things and also too consumed by guilt to actually edit anything. I've been working on this all of may, and I've been editing and tweeking chapters 1 and 2 as well so hopefully they are better. And if you happen to notice anything weird please let me know. 
> 
> And I just want to say the biggest thank you and send all of my love to sir sin who drew [this](https://sir-scandalous.tumblr.com/post/156886388680/lance-split-the-water-into-smaller-shapes) gorgeous Shiro inspired by chapter 2. It still makes me cry with joy every time I see it.

Even keeping a constant swirl of water moving around his neck until the next time Shiro visited did not help Lance feel any better. It did little to soothe his gills or take any of the pain away. The water was stale freshwater, and he longed the familiar comfort of saltwater (even stale salt water would be better), he needed it to reach the raw ache that stretched all the way to the back of his throat and into his lungs.  
  
He could breathe, at least. When those tubes started to suffocate him, he'd been afraid he might never draw another breath, but not every inhale and exhale irritated his sensitive throat. The phantom sensation of those tubes jammed between his gills, lodged in his airways, lingered and no matter how he coughed and hacked, trying to dislodge the feeling, nothing worked. They were still there, choking him.  
  
Using his power for an extended period of time drained him as well, leaving him lethargic and cranky, and it made his body ache even more than it already did. By the time the harsh scrape of the bolt being pulled alerted him to an impending visit Lance was more than a little tired and frustrated, and a sinking sense of hopelessness had settled deep in his heart.  
  
Lance allowed the water to drop away before the door fully opened, refusing to show how badly those cruel test had hurt him. It didn't matter if it was Shiro or one of those people in white who walked through the door, he would show no weakness. Lance pressed his back firmly against the wall, legs tucked up against his chest, hunched over in a ball he glowered at the door, eyes dark, smouldering with a deep glow that made them look almost black. The sound of the door opening alone made his pulse spike, but he masked the fear with hot, simmering anger which he directed at the person who walked through the door.  
  
Shiro.  
  
“Hey, how are you feeling today?” Oblivious, at first, to Lance's heated glare Shiro greeted him as warm, and friendly as ever, unwittingly selecting words that rubbed salt into the wound. Words that made Lance's blood boil. His angry scowl grew colder, a look bordering on hatred curling at the corner of his lips, he bared his teeth in a snarl.  
  
Shiro's step faltered, and he stopped where he was, hesitant to go any further.  
  
“Lance, is something wrong?” Shiro's tone was kind, gently trying to coax a reply out of the suddenly wary young man. He stood perfectly still, making no move to go closer, and an expression of such genuine concern softened his features, as if he knew nothing of what the other humans did, that Lance almost believed it.  
  
He wanted so badly to believe it, but after everything they'd done Lance no longer saw kindness. Now he saw false concern masking a sneer, and instead of gently grey eyes, he saw hard steel. It was all fake, a trick, an act. It had to be.  
  
“Oh, nothing's wrong at all. What could possibly be wrong?” Lance answered, raspy voice dripping with sarcasm. It hurt to speak, and any venom in his words was lost in the weakness of his voice. He sounded pathetic, even to his own ears, which only fuelled his anger and frustration more.  
  
“What happened to your voice? Do you have a cold?” The expression of concern deepened, thick, dark eyebrows knitting together in worry. His grey eyes were still so soft and caring. It made Lance's gut churn with guilt, telling him that he was wrong, that Shiro wasn't the one he should be angry at.  
  
But Shiro was one of them. Why shouldn't he be angry with him?  
  
“I don't have a cold,” Lance hissed, and there was something to his tone that suggested Shiro should know what was wrong, but Shiro drew a blank. Last time he's seen Lance things had been going well. Was he annoyed that Shiro had made him try walking?  
  
“Ok then,” Shiro nodded, letting it go for now. He could wheedle more out of Lance when the boy relaxed.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Shiro took a small, cautious step closer, holding up the tray like a peace offering. “I brought tuna and salmon this time,” he added brightly, hoping the food might brighten Lance's mood.  
  
“I don't want it,” Lance snapped waspishly, his voice cracking, pain flaring up in his throat. The thought of eating made his throat feel tight, enough to make him gag. He couldn't face that, not even as his stomach growled enthusiastically at the mention of tuna and salmon.  
  
“Lance, you have to eat something.” Shiro took another step forward, his tone firm and tired, switching to 'big-brother' mode.  
  
Lance stiffened. “I'm not hungry.”  
  
“Lance,” Shiro scolded. Another step and he was getting closer. Too close.  
  
“I said I'm not hungry!” Lance growled, the anger made his throat feel like it was on fire. He glowered at Shiro, his eyes narrowing and taking on an eerie, ethereal glow that shone brightly in the dimly lit room.  
  
Shiro paused, a jerk of his hands making the items on the tray clatter together. He gazed down at Lance with a mixture of curiosity and caution, reminded of the very first time he'd met the boy. He saw again the glowing blue, sharp teeth and glittering scales that he was sure he'd imagined. It was only in Lance's eyes now, but it was bright and real.  
  
Despite his surprise, Shiro stood his ground and refused to back down. “Why aren't you hungry?” he asked instead, hoping that a different tact would work. It succeeded in making Lance stop glaring at him quite so venomously.  
  
“I'm just not ok.” It was a clear lie, the petulant tone much like a child refusing to eat their vegetables.  
  
Shiro wasn't buying it.  
  
“Even if you don't feel hungry you should try to eat something. Even just one tin of tuna. Do you think you can manage that?” Shiro coaxed again. He crouched down carefully, balanced on the balls of his feet he placed the tray down beside him and then dipped his hand into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a tin.  
  
“NO!” Lance roared, suppressing a flinch at the pain the shout caused. He ignored it, swallowed it down in favour of the hot anger that bubbled in his chest. The glow in his eyes grew brighter, and the splash of freckles along his shoulders and torso revealed themselves for what they really were, tiny blue scales that glimmered with bioluminescence, pulsing with his rage. He didn't allow his cress or teeth to show, not yet, but he was on the verge of it.  
  
Shiro dropped the tin. Eyes wide he jerked backwards falling flat on his ass, which gave Lance some small measure of satisfaction.  
  
There was something frightening in the display and fierce anger that radiated off the strange boy, enough to take Shiro's breath away, but there was a captivating beauty there too in the dusting of glimmering blue scales that glowed across Lance's dark skin, like a cluster of stars in the night sky. The vivid blue glow of his eyes was like twin moons, the image he painted so powerful it was impossible to look away.  
  
Shiro didn't realise he was holding his breath until his lungs started to burn in protest, forcing him to suck in a shuddering gasp.  
  
“Okay.” He knew when to pick his battles, knew when he was beaten. He could not win against Lance, not like this, and he didn't want to upset Lance further. As beautiful as the glow in his eyes was there was something deeply mournful there too that Shiro was too afraid to touch upon.  
  
“You don't need to eat anything right now.” Shiro carefully collected himself, wary about making any sudden movements that might upset Lance. He knelt, picked up the tin and placed it on the tray before slowly rising to his feet.  
  
“But I'll leave the food here for you, so please try to eat something later, when you're ready,” Shiro pleaded. Lance was still glowing not quite as bright now, but faint and threatening.  
  
Lance answered with a withering look.  
  
Shiro took the tray over to the bed and set it down there. He paused for a moment before pulling another tin out of his pocket, a tin of salmon. He ripped the lid off and set it down on the tray with the other tin and the rest of Lance's rations.  
  
The smell hit Lance like a wave and his stomach growled, loud enough to echo around the tiny room. Loud enough for Shiro to hear, but he said nothing as he left, the door closing behind him with a heavy, final click, and once again Lance was all alone.  
  
Summoning the water to his hands Lance swirled it around his neck again, trying to soothe away the fresh ache yelling at Shiro caused. He ignored the tempting smell of salmon as best he could, telling himself he didn't need it, focusing instead on controlling the water, but his fatigue quickly won out, and he couldn't ignore the painful hunger pangs shooting through his stomach any longer.  
  
He allowed the water to drop away, storing some of it safely in the plastic cup Shiro had let him keep. Squaring his shoulders, Lance took several deep, steadying breaths before slowly, and shakily rising to his feet. He had to lean on the wall just to get upright, and it took a few more deep breaths before he felt ready to take a step, but he'd done this once before, he could do it again. Letting the inviting smell of salmon guide him, draw him in, Lance pushed off the wall and stumbled across the room. His legs trembled with every step. He staggered, and almost fell several times, but he managed to make it to the bed without falling. Sitting, however, was another challenge and he didn't have the strength to lower himself carefully. He landed on his ass with a thump, his legs giving out the moment he tried. Lance cursed them under his breath and smacked his thighs a few times for good measure. They really were quite useless things.  
  
Turning to his meal Lance snatched up the tin of salmon, ignoring everything else he was usually forced to eat. Shiro wasn't here to nag him now, so he had no intention of eating anything he didn't want to, particularly those vile green things.  
  
He dug his fingers into the tin with his usual gusto, though he scooped up

a smaller portion this time. He ate carefully, chewing the meagre mouthful thoroughly before he dared swallow. The first bite burned his throat and Lance had to resist the urge to heave and bring the food back up. He was fighting a battle between the pain in his throat and the pain in his stomach, and Lance wasn't really sure which one was winning.  
  
He took another small bite and revealed his sharp teeth so he could chew up the already soft, diced food into a softer, more manageable pulp. Better, but it still hurt to swallow.  
  
He only managed to eat half the tin before the pain in his throat won, his stomach at least partially satisfied by what he'd eaten, Lance admitted defeat. He'd eat the rest later. Placing the tin down on the tray, Lance wobbled to his feet again and made his way back to his puddle, where he stayed until Shiro returned.  


 

* * *

  
  
“Well, at least you ate something,” Shiro sighed looking down at the tray and the half-empty tin of salmon chunks. Nothing else had been touched, and even the other tin of tun remained unopened. Worry clenched tight and deep in his gut. He'd expected that Lance would at least eat the fish, no matter how upset he was.  
  
Lance said nothing. Curled up in the corner, facing the wall with his back to the room Lance sat bent over, his arms wrapped around his stomach hoping to stifle the telltale grumble of hunger. His throat still stung from eating the little that he had. He couldn't face eating any more, no matter how painful his stomach cramped.  
  
But he was so hungry.  
  
“Lance?” Hesitantly Shiro approached Lance, slowly dragging his feet keeping a careful eye on him, ready to stop and take a step back if Lance told him too.  
  
That concern was still there. Still so real, and the way he spoke his name, almost like a plea, made something in Lance's chest ache. There was consideration in Shiro's slow footsteps, moving cautiously trying not to alarm him. He heard Shiro stop at the edge of the water, refusing to step into the pathetic puddle without his permission.  
  
Lance wanted to turn around so badly, he wanted to fall for that sweet concern and kind words, but he couldn't. His pride, and still burning anger, wouldn't allow it. He made the water around him ripple instead, warning Shiro against coming any closer.  
  
“If there's something wrong, you can tell me. I'll try to do something about it.” Shiro sounded almost desperate now.  
  
Lance curled up tighter on himself, every muscle in his body held so tight he trembled.  
  
“Okay.” The footsteps retreated, heavy with disappointment and worry. He moved over to the bed and Lance heard the clacking sound of him setting something down on it, shortly followed by the sound of Shiro leaving.  
  
The pull of the bolt locking the door sounded louder, and even more jarring, than ever.  
  
Lance slumped against the wall, a small sob slipping past his lips. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, wiping away tears that weren't there, too exhausted to even cry properly. Sucking in a breath, Lance pulled himself together and looked over his shoulder at the bed. The tray was gone and in its place three sealed tine of fish. Shiro had probably taken away the open one since it was no longer fresh. It made Lance's gut twist, making him feel even more nauseated in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.  
  
Shiro was still being so kind even with Lance giving him the cold shoulder. Would he still bother to pretend to be kind if it was clear Lance wasn't falling for it any more?  
  
He missed Shiro. He missed the only pleasant interaction he had with another living being. He missed the other man's kind smile, and his warmth, how talking to him Lance could forget about the hopelessness of his situation for a few moments.  
  
No. He was angry at the humans who kept him here, which included Shiro. He couldn't let his guard down now. Not after the brutal way they'd treated him, not when he didn't know what they would do next.  
  


* * *

  
  
They came for him again sometime later. Lance still hadn't eaten anything. His stomach growled, and every one of his limbs felt heavy. It was a struggle to lift his head, but he used what little he had left of his strength to glare at them and growl. He refused to allow the pain in his throat to stop him. Even if it did nothing, he had to show them he would still fight back. He would never give in.  
  
Of course, it had no effect. They grabbed his arms, hoisting him up not caring that his feet dragged across the floor. Lance allowed his legs to drag uselessly, not caring about the bruises forming on his feet. Let them think he couldn't use them. He focused on memorising the layout of the hallway instead counting the doors, every turning the took and all the hallways they passed, the turnings the didn't take.  
  
Wherever he was, it was big and maze-like, and as dim as his sense had grown he knew they were nowhere near any bodies of water, not even a little stream. There was no way he could get out using his powers so he would have to rely on his legs. Legs that he needed to strengthen before he even considered trying to escape. But how much time did he have? Would he survive whatever they planned to put him through long enough to get out?  
  
He was strapped down on the chair again, given the drug that made him lose control of his limbs, followed by the drug that forced his transformation.  
  
Then came the water, and those tubes. 

 

* * *

  
  
“He won't eat. I think he hates me now,” Shiro said miserably, poking at his meal with a fork. He had no appetite and no desire to eat, not when he was so preoccupied with Lance's refusal to eat, and the fact the boy was ignoring him. Something was wrong. Was Lance sick? Getting sicker?  
  
“You're talking about that boy again, right?” What happened this time?” Keith didn't look up from his own meal, cutting into the meat with his knife and fork, but Shiro knew he was listening.  
  
“Yeah.” Shiro pushed a stalk of broccoli through the puddle of gravy on his plate. No. He couldn't eat. He put his fork down and laced his fingers together.  
  
“I don't get it. He was fine yesterday, and we were getting along. Now….” he trailed off, his shoulders slumping.  
  
Keith gave a small hum of sympathy and took a bite of his meal before answering. “Was there anything different about him? Or did you say something weird?” Keith asked evenly with a quirked eyebrow, suspecting the latter.  
  
“I didn't say anything weird,” Shiro huffed with a tired sigh, shooting Keith a pointed look. Ever since his accident Keith had grown more mature and responsible, it was quite galling to have his little brother lecture him.  
  
“And I didn't notice anything different about him, although his voice sounded raspy when he did speak, but he said it wasn't a cold.”  
  
“Maybe he didn't want to eat because his throat was sore?” Keith suggested, which yes, was a logical conclusion, but even with a sore throat Lance would get hungry, he would need to eat, and a sore throat didn't explain his sudden hostility.  
  
“You know, I still think something's really fishy about all this,” Keith couldn't help chime in. It wasn't the first time Keith had expressed his suspicions.  
  
“You say they keep him a small room with no windows right? With a puddle covering one half of the room. What possible reason could they have to keep someone locked up like that? Who would find that comfortable?”  
  
“Keith,” Shiro said firmly, hoping the younger man would take the hint. He didn't need Keith to give voice to the doubts he was already having again.  
  
“The Galara institute is a medical facility. It's likely he's sick from something I don't need to know about, and whatever it is, that room is the best way of managing it,” Shiro answered smartly. A model answer from an obedient soldier that didn't question his superiors.  
  
“Medical facility my ass, you are such a golden boy. I don't trust them,” Keith said viciously, stabbing his fork in the air at Shiro.  
  
“Keith!”  
  
Ignoring Shiro’s warning, Keith barrelled on.  
  
“They took your arm and replaced it with that prosthetic, without even getting permission from your parents or anything. And it was the first time they'd ever used that technology, apparently, you were basically their guinea pig.”  
  
“They're you're parents too, you know.” Shiro didn't miss the way Keith said 'your parents' and not 'our'. Keith looked pained for a moment, fighting an internal struggle with himself. Even after ten years with the Shirogane's he still seemed to think they might throw him out at any moment.  
  
“That's not the point right now, we're talking about the Galra,” Keith exclaimed. Shiro’s attempt to derail the topic had failed.  
  
“I know you say you're 'grateful for the chance to have your independence back' or whatever, but they altered your body without permission. What if they're keeping him there for a similar reason?”  
  
Shiro shuddered, Keith's cutting question forcing him to consider things he'd been trying to ignore.  
  
“His eyes glow,” Shiro said suddenly, grasping at straws, “so that's probably what's wrong with him. He must be sick.”  
  
“His eyes...glow?” Keith stuttered, his anger defused by the sudden revelation. Shiro nodded quickly.  
  
“Yes. So maybe he's...um, radioactive or something, and that's why he has to stay in that confined room.” It was something cliché, straight out of a comic book and too absurd to be true. Judging by the expression on Keith's face, he was thinking the same.  
  
“And what? They let you go into a room with some radioactive boy without any warning or protection?”  
  
“No, well maybe he's not dangerous.”  
  
“Then why keep him contained?”  
  
Shiro squirmed. He didn't have an answer.  
  
“Shiro, listen,” Keith hissed. He leant across the table, eyes darting left and right on the lookout for any eavesdroppers. “What if he's an alien?”  
  
“Seriously?” Shiro dead-panned. A comic-bookesque theory

was too outrageous, but aliens were perfectly plausible?  
  
“I'm just saying, what if the Garrison found something out there and brought him back? People's eyes don't glow Shiro.”  
  
“Keith, he's not an alien, he looks just like you and me.”  
  
“Except for the glowing eyes,” Keith smirked.  
  
“His eyes only glow when he gets agitated. They don't glow all the time,” Shiro explained as if that somehow made it less alien.  
  
“Uh-huh.” Keith wasn't convinced.  
  
“You know, we know more about space than we do about the sea, he could just as easily have come from there,” Shiro spluttered. Well, Lance had said the sea was his home, although Shiro had put that down to delusion rambling. But then there was the things Lance could do with water and the pretty blue scales that made it seem less like a delusion and more like the truth.  
  
But mermaids? That was a wilder theory than the comic book one and aliens.  
  
“The sea? Why are you bringing that up?” Keith blinked. It was enough to throw him off. He shook his head when Shiro only shrugged in reply.  
  
“Whatever, you shouldn't even be there anyway. All you do is take food to this 'not alien' and run errands for them all day. You're not a lackey, Shiro, you belong here. When are you coming back?”  
  
“Keith, don’t.”  
  
“Shiro it’s been a year since-”  
  
“I said drop it!” Shiro said sharply, his voice raised cutting Keith off.  
  
Keith scowled, considering ignoring the warning for a moment, but he then thought better of it.  
  
“You should at least talk to Matt, he keeps asking about you,” grumbling Keith sank back in his seat.  
  
“Maybe later…” Shiro had been saying that for a year now.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
After a second round of tests, Lance was left sorer and even more bitter. The tins Shiro left on the bed remained untouched, unopened. No matter how much his stomach growled and cramped he couldn't face the prospect of swallowing solid food, not when his throat felt so raw.  
  
He swirled water around his neck for as long as he could, but after using his powers for so long, and not eating anything for just as long, he was too weak to keep it up.  
  
The water fell away, and he slumped against the wall, too tired to even hold himself upright. It was a horribly uncomfortable position to rest in, his back twisted at an odd angle and his legs splayed out, but every inch of his body ached anyway. Lance didn't care. He was asleep before the water had stopped rippling around him.  
  
Shiro found him like that, slumped bonelessly against the wall. With his limbs splayed out and a grey pallor to his dark skin. For a brief, horrifying moment Shiro feared the worst. He dropped the tray and sucked in a sharp breath, either to scream Lance's name or call for help, he wasn't sure which, his mind went blank.  
  
The sound of the tray clattering to the floor woke Lance with a start. His eyes snapped open, and the blue glow flared up, gaze darting about wildly. His head snapped from side to side, and he scrabbled against the floor pushing himself back against the wall as hard as he could. The glowing gaze eventually settled on Shiro and seeing that it was Shiro, and only Shiro, the tray spit at his feet, the light in Lance's eyes dimmed, but they remained wide, and his chest heaved from the fright.  
  
Lance levelled a dark scowl at Shiro, tucked his legs up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, tight and completely closed off.  
  
“You're ok...Sorry...I thought-” Shiro's voice trembled and he swallowed thickly. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it beating against his ribs. For a moment, he'd thought Lance was dead, the boy had looked so lifeless. He couldn't look at him, couldn't meet that burning gaze that seemed to accuse him for it all. He looked at the mess on the floor, the food and dishes spilt everywhere. Inedible.  
  
“Well, I guess you don't need to eat that, but the tuna should still be ok,” Shiro said with a weak grin, his tone light hoping to dispel some of the tension.  
  
Lance continued to glare at him.  
  
Ok, so that didn't work. Shiro crouched down and silently gathered up the spilt food as best he could. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, intent on his task, avoiding Lance's eyes that he could feel boring holes in him.  
  
Still avoiding Lance's gaze, Shiro got to his feet. He'd collected as much of the food as he could and dumped it all on the tray. He turned to the bed.  
  
“You still haven't eaten anything,” he commented, chewing on his lower lip trouble by the sight of the three unopened tins. He set the tray down and pulled another tin out of his pocket placing it down with the others. Gazing at the tins thoughtfully Shiro wondered what he could do for Lance. How could he get him to eat?  
  
Lance had been so enthusiastic about the tuna until now. Shiro couldn't understand what had changed. What could have made Lance ignore him and refuse to eat?  
  
“Lance,” he turned to the boy, meeting his glare with unwavering sincerity. Lance glared at him for a moment, but couldn't face the full force of Shiro's sincerity. It was too real. He turned away and curled up to the side, tucking his head against the wall.  
  
Shiro wasn't sure what was worse, having Lance glare at him, or having Lance curl up and turn his back to him, looking so wounded and hopeless.  
  
“Lance, please. If there's something wrong, you can tell me,” Shiro's voice hitched.  
  
Lance hugged himself tighter, guilt stabbing his gut making the pains worse.  
  
“At least try to eat something, anything. If you want something different….tell me, I'll try.”  
  
Stubbornly, Lance remained silent even as the desperation in Shiro's voice tugged at his heart.  
  
“Ok. Just keep that in mind for next time. If you think of anything, let me know.” Shiro moved back to the bed, picked up the tray, and left without another word.  
  
Lance remained huddled up in the corner for several long minutes after Shiro left, even after he heard the familiar slide of the lock. He couldn't face looking up to an empty room, where Shiro had stood moments before.  
  
He missed him. Missed the companionship talking to Shiro offered, and the way it eased his loneliness, even if Shiro was one of them. And Shiro's concern remained so genuine, as if it wasn't an act, that is made Lance feel a hundred times worse. His fear and confusion over what was happening tugged him one way, while his loneliness and desperation for any form of companionship pulled him another.  
  
Lance was at a loss.  
  
Pushing his dilemma over Shiro to the back of his mind, for now, Lance focused instead on his rumbling stomach. The pain in his throat was no better, and the idea of eating still made him gag, but the ache in his stomach was almost as bad as the ache in his throat now. He had to eat. Besides he didn't want to starve to death before he managed to escape, that would be pathetic.  
  
Lifting his head to face the empty room Lance fixed his gaze on the tins, only feet away from him, but in his weakened state, the distance seemed like miles. He sucked in a deep, determined breath, steadying his resolve before he started pushing himself to his feet, using the wall for support. His legs buckled and shook but there was some improvement, he found to more comfortable to get to his feet, quicker, and even as his legs shook he felt steadier.  
  
Lance smiled triumphantly and waited for the wave of light-headed dizziness to pass before he took a step forward.  
  
He hobbled over to the bed, taking small, shuffling steps, but with less stumbling than before, and when he got to the bed he managed to sit with a little more control and not land with a hard thump.  
  
Good.  
  
Grabbing one of the tins, paying no attention to which one it was, the food would hurt to swallow regardless, Lance tore off the lid with a sharp snap of his wrist. The inviting smell of brine wafted over him (tuna), and he glared down at the contents, eyes hard and narrowed. The only reason he was going to eat something was that he had to because he was hungry and not because Shiro asked him to with such sincerity.  
  
After a moment of hesitation, Lance dug his fingers into the mush and scooped up a small mouthful, chewing it thoroughly until the chopped up tuna was nothing but a tasteless pulp in his mouth. He chewed it a few more times for good measure before he dared to swallow. It stung, making his throat burn painfully and a shudder went through him, almost causing him to heave and throw the food back up. He pressed his lips together tightly, forcing himself to keep it down. He focused on the appreciative grumble of his stomach and the way the ache in his gut was already lessening.  
  
He had to eat.  
  
Another bite, an even smaller helping this time that he chewed just as thoroughly and that hurt just as much to swallow. He looked down at the tin miserably, saw how little he'd eaten and how much was left.  
  
Lance closed his eyes, scooped up another portion, and ate. He had to eat.  
  
He managed to get through almost the whole tin before the pain in his throat became too much, the burning impossible to ignore any longer. He dropped the tin next to the others, his stomach still grumbling for more. Now, even those horrible green things Shiro always brought with him would look appetising.  
  
With a sigh he lifted the shirt Shiro left for him however long ago, and dropped it over the tins, hiding them from view. Sure, he knew they were there, but maybe if he couldn't see them, then the hunger pain might be a little less demanding.  
  
The bed was cold and hard. Not a good place to rest, so Lance pushed himself to his feet and hobbled back over to his puddle, which may be stale and far too shallow, but at least offered him some comfort. He sank down on his knees in the water, then flopped down to lie flat out on his back. Even though he'd eaten something he still lacked the energy to manipulate the water and swirl it around him, so he lay down so

that the foul water touched as much of his skin as possible instead.  
  
It was better than drying out. Marginally.  
  
Closing his eyes, he willed sleep to come. If he were asleep, then he wouldn't feel hungry.  


* * *

  
  
The next time Shiro walked into the room he steeled himself for what he might see, his grip so tight on the tray his knuckles turned white. If he were prepared, then maybe he wouldn't make a fool of himself again, dropping everything and frightening Lance.  
  
He stepped into the dimly lit room, pausing for a moment allowing his eyes to adjust. He saw Lance's shadowy figure lying on the ground. It didn't move, but Shiro kept his wits about him this time. He waited and looked closer, his eyes straining to catch sight of the reassuring rise and fall of Lance's chest before he let out the breath he was holding. Lance was breathing, he was alive, just sleeping.  
  
Not wanting to startle him awake again Shiro tip-toed over to the bed, careful not to make a sound. He set the tray down gently and glanced to the side, searching for the tins he'd left there previously. When he didn't immediately see them Shiro's heart leapt, hopeful that Lance had finally decided to eat. Then he saw the wrinkled up shirt and the odd lump beneath it. Lifting it revealed only one (mostly) empty tin. The other two hadn't been touched.  
  
“Well, better than nothing I suppose,” Shiro muttered to himself. But it wasn't enough. One single tin of tuna was hardly enough to sustain someone, and Lance hadn't been eating much to begin with. Now he was skipping meals, at this rate...  
  
Shiro glanced over at the sleeping boy. He was naturally slender, and his height, long willow limbs and small waist accentuated that. At first, he hadn't looked 'too thin' but was it Shiro's imagination or did his ribs look just a little more pronounced?  
  
Shaking his head Shiro perched on the edge of the bed and watched Lance sleep, counting the steady rise and fall of his chest. Should he wake him? Probably. He should try to persuade Lance to eat, no matter how much Lance glared and hated him for it. At this point, food was perhaps more important than sleep.  
  
But Lance looked so peaceful. Even in the dim light of the room, Shiro saw the bags under Lance's eyes, and how they'd grown darker and heavier over the last couple of days. He'd thought little of it at first, allowing himself to get distracted by Lance's enthusiasm, and dazzled by his smile, fooled into seeing past the fatigue that weighed heavily on him.  
  
Shiro saw it all now, without any masks to hide it.  
  
Lance appeared drained of life. The dark bags, sunken features and grey pallor to his skin were not the signs of someone recovering, healthy. Every time Shiro visited he looked worse, more frail, and that was just wrong.  
  
Why was Lance here? What were they doing to him to put him is such a condition? Shiro chewed his bottom lip and twisted his hands together as he pondered those questions. Questions that were coming up with an answer that he didn't want to believe was true.  
  
Several minutes passed, and Lance began to stir. Shiro held his breath, and kept still, worried his silent agitation had disturbed him. Deep blue eyes opened slowly, glimmering like ocean pools in starlight. It was difficult to tell if it was the odd glow or the natural shimmer of his eyes, but either way, Shiro's breath hitched.  
  
Lance stared up at the ceiling for a moment and blinked once before turning to Shiro, sensing his presences but showing no alarm, or maybe he was just too tired.  
  
“Have you been watching me sleep?” He scowled, his voice raspier than Shiro remembered it.  
  
“I didn't want to disturb you. You looked like you needed to sleep. I've only been here a few minutes.”  
  
Silence greeted him, not tense, but not a welcome silence either. It hung around them thick and stifling. The type of silence that made Shiro afraid to speak  
  
Lance huffed after a moment and glared up at the ceiling. “Whatever.”  
  
The tension lessened a little, at least enough for Shiro to speak. “Do you think you could maybe eat a little more now?”  
  
Lance rolled over onto his side, his back to Shiro, a silent no.  
  
“Ok. You don't have to eat now, but I'll leave the tray here. Try to eat something when you're ready.”  
  
“No. Take it with you.” Lance's voice was surprisingly firm and forceful despite the way it cracked. Shiro winced.  
  
“Lance-” he began but was cut off by a small voice.  
  
“Please.” Lance curled up in a ball, his shoulders hunched. Shiro could see the bumps of his spine, far more prominent than they should be.  
  
“Ok,” and although he didn't want to there was something so small and lost in Lance's voice that he couldn't refuse. He picked up the tins and put them on the tray.  
  
“I'll bring you something else next time. Something gentler on your throat,” Shiro promised before leaving.  
  
Lance gave no reply.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
He felt pathetic, begging Shiro to take away the food, but he couldn't stand it being there in the same room. Even if he couldn't see it or smell it, he knew it was there, and the knowledge alone made his stomach grumble and twist painfully. Without the temptation of food in the room, he hoped his stomach would be silent.  
  
He could dream.  
  
He remained curled up on his side too afraid to go to sleep again, not when Shiro had entered the room without him noticing, twice now. Plus he was sure they would come for him soon, after a couple of visits from Shiro, they always did.  
  
There was a pattern to things, two or three visits from Shiro, then they would come to take him away. Each one of those experiments probably equated to at least a day. The time between them and Shiro's visits felt too long for it to be less than that. His hunger also told him that it had to be at least a day, the food he was given enough to tied him over between meals, but never quite enough to satisfy him even with the extra tins of fish.  
  
So far there had been three 'incidents', so three days. Had it really only been three days? Of course, there was the time before the experiments, when it was only Shiro visiting him, bringing him food that Lance refused. That must have been at least a day or two, then there was the time from when he'd been captured and brought here. That would be another day or so.  
  
At most, it had probably been a week.  
  
Only one week, and he was already like this. How much longer would he last?  
  
Lying on his side he watched the door, waiting. When would they come?  
  
Eventually, he heard the slide of the bolt and the door slammed open. It was them. Shiro always opened the door carefully, quietly. It was probably why he'd been able to enter the room without waking Lance.  
  
The water rippled around him and Lance debated attacking them and making a break for it. His legs were getting stronger, he could probably put some distance between them if he managed to catch them by surprise. But would it be enough?  
  
Two of them entered the room, dressed in their usual white that made their outlines blur in the dim light. Lance released his hold on the water. No. Even if he did manage to catch them off guard, he was too weak and too tired to get far.  
  
“Hey, no funny business from you!” One of them, catching the movement of the water marched up to him and pulled a long object from his belt. He raised it above his head and brought it down, hard, on Lance's arm.  
  
Lance gritted his teeth. Biting back a howl of pain he glared up at the man, eyes glowing.  
  
“Get up!” The looming figure commanded, the long object raised above his head again. Lance didn't move. He refused to waste any of his energy obeying them.  
  
The man sneered, a look akin to delight stretching his lips, taking pleasure in the prospect of hitting Lance again, but he was stopped by the second figure grabbing his wrist.  
  
“Just grab him. You know hoe Doctor Haggar feels about damaging him outside of the tests,” the second man warned, although he sounded bored. It was not Lance's well-being he was concerned about.  
  
The second man released the other's wrist and ducked down to grab Lance's arm. His fingers wrapped around the spot where the first man had hit him, and he squeezed, his grip punishing as he hoisted Lance up by one arm. Lance bit his lips and closed his eyes, holding back a cry.  
  
The first man tutted but lowered his weapon and clipped it back on his belt before grabbing Lance's other arm, and together the two of them dragged him away.  
  
He was taken to the same room, of course, strapped down in the same chair, the same restraints pulled so tight they bit into his skin. There was no use in struggling, all his fighting so far had proved fruitless, so Lance lay limp in the chair. He hadn't given up, far from it. He was forming a plan, a strategy to cope, and part of that was conserving his energy. Now was not the time to fight. Now, he didn't even need to be here. Lance allowed his mind to wander and his eyes to go out of focus, letting go. The best thing for him to do now was drift away, separate himself from it all and pretend none of this was happening.  
  
A sharp jab he couldn't quite ignore told him he was being injected with the sedative, and the second jab to his thigh followed shortly after. He pushed passed the sick twist of nausea the forced transformation caused and allowed the sedative to consume him, body and mind. He welcomed the fog and hoped that it would knock him out completely.  
  
They began by taking further measurements and samples from his body before turning their attention to his gills again, washing water over them and poking the tubes through them. Lance barely felt it as the numbness took over. It was almost as if he were floating above his body, completely separate from the awful things that were happening to it.  
  
The figures in white moved in a blur around him. They spoke in hushed, clipped tones with each other wasting little

time on words. They took notes, then stuck various other instruments apart from the tubes beneath his gills, rinse and repeat.  
  
Occasionally a woman barked orders in a low, husky voice that made Lance shudder. He hated her voice. She was always there, her imposing presence telling that she was the one in charge. Was she the Doctor Haggar the men spoke about earlier?  
  
While the face of the others in white blurred together, and Lance wouldn't have been able to pick them out if he tried, the woman was different. Her sharp gold eyes and drawn features stayed with him, a clear, unshakable image in his mind. Her piercing gaze chilling him to the core whenever she turned her full attention to him, looking down at him, observing as the others carried out her orders.  
  
He couldn't pick out her words, what she might be ordering them to do now. He didn't want to. Lance closed his eyes, emptied his mind and blissfully, slipped out of consciousness. He drifted in and out after that, at one point he thought the tubes were gone, only to find they were back the next time he came back, pumping something into his body. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the dark fog at the back of his mind.  
  
When he woke again they really were gone, except now there was a single tube in his mouth, pushed all the way down his throat, and his jaw was held open by some contraption that prevented him from biting down on it. A spike of panic forced him out of the thinning fog, and Lance knew the drug was wearing off.  
  
Only the woman with the gravelly voice was there now. She smiled down at him, her eyes cold and devoid of emotion. When she saw he was awake the corners of her lips curled up just a fraction, and she ran a finger along his cheek, a sharp nail dragging against his skin.  
  
“I hear you haven't been eating,” she cooed, her voice barely above a whisper. She pressed her nail harder against his cheek, digging in. Lance skin crawled, her voice and her touch turned his blood to ice. He willed himself to move if only to turn his head away from her hand but his muscles refused to respond. His mind was wide awake, but his body was not.  
  
“You can refuse the food that fool brings you if you wish, but I'll not allow you to starve,” she hissed. She lifted both hands and cradled Lance's face between them, cold fingers curled around his cheeks in a vice-like grip.  
  
“Do you think I don't know that lab rat brings you extra food?” Stony gold eyes bore into him seeing only an experiment, her project. She sneered.  
  
Lance's eyes widened. He tried to pull his head back, tried to close his mouth, willed his body to do something, anything that would put even a little distance between them. His body would not respond.  
  
Fool. Lab rat. She was talking about Shiro, she must be, but her tone was so cold and condescending, speaking about him as if he were beneath her, nothing more than another one of her test subjects.  
  
“But I care not what you eat as long as you stay alive for as long as I need you.” She released her hold on his face and turned to a nearby machine. After flipping a few switches, the machine whirred into life, and then it began to pump something thick through the tube, something that worked its way slowly through it towards Lance's mouth.  
  
Lance made a noise at the back of his throat, his hands twitching against the armrest they were tied to, some movement returning to his body. He could feel the substance pass through the tube, down his throat and into his stomach forcing its way in. It was food. Even though he couldn't taste it, as the nutrients filled his stomach he was sure that was what it was. He gripped the armrests with trembling fingers.  
  
Each pump of the machine made the tube jerk and his throat constricted around it involuntarily as is moved. It hurt, aggravating the still raw flesh. His body jerked and spasmed against the bindings, and he arched off the chair as much as they would allow. He wanted to scream, but with the tube in his mouth, he couldn't make a sound.  
  
Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, running down his cheeks as the machine continued to pump him full, oblivious to his suffering. The woman stood by the machine, watching him, indifferent and utterly unaffected by his struggles and his tears.  
  
After what seemed like an age the machine beeped and quietened down, and the tube was empty.  
  
“This will be your next meal if you continue to refuse to eat,” she warned before leaving him there for her subordinates to deal with.  
  
Two men in white came in after her. They freed Lance from his restraints and pulled the tube from his mouth with little care, yanking it out with such force he choked.  
  
Lance gagged and heaved, struggling to catch his breath. With the tube gone, he felt like he would throw up everything that had been forced into his stomach. He was given no time to collect himself. They grabbed his arms and hoisted him off the chair, dragging him back down the corridor, back to the tiny room, Lance retching all the way.  
  
They dropped him on the floor, just inside the room and slammed the door. The bolt dragged closed, and everything was silent.  
  
Lance lay in a heap where he'd fallen, still heaving, saliva dribbling down his chin, his whole body trembling. It took several long moments for the shaking to stop enough for him to push himself onto his hands and knees, and when he finally regained enough control over his limbs to move, he crawled over to the far corner of the room, away from the water. He didn't want to contaminate it further.  
  
He slumped against the wall, his stomach churning, full. After dry-heaving a few more times with nothing happening, Lance thought that maybe, maybe it would stop. His body was struggling to deal with being full, but he wasn't going to be sick.  
  
Then he heaved again, and this was different, he only just had the foresight to lean to one side so that he didn't throw up all over his lap. The bile burned his throat making everything hurt anew.  
  
Lance stayed in the corner, weak and dizzy with nausea. He didn't trust himself to go to the water. The vomit smelled foul, the acidic odour making him heave several more times even though there was nothing left. He shuffled along the wall a little way, moving away from it, but the room was too small, and the smell permeated every corner, swirling in the still air so that there was no escape.  
  
Even though sleep would be impossible, Lance closed his eyes.  


* * *

  
  
  
Time passed at even more agonising pace, and Lance couldn't tell it was because he was so run down and beaten, or if he was just that desperate to see Shiro again, the only human who didn't make him feel sick to his stomach.  
  
He was still slumped against the wall, having not found the energy or the will to move further. He barely noticed the growing itch in scales, everything else hurt so much more.  
  
The smell had dissipated, enough so that it didn't turn his stomach and make him feel as if he might vomit again, but the air remained stale with a pungent tang.  
  
Lance looked up when he heard the door open, not surprised to see Shiro there with the usual tray, but it was a relief to see him.  
  
Shiro looked to the water first, and his eyes widened comically, thick eyebrows shooting up in alarm when he saw no sign of Lance in his usual spot. His gaze flicked to the bed next his eyebrows going even higher when he didn't find Lance there either.  
  
Watching him, Lance felt a weak smile tug at his lips. Shiro looked so flustered, scared even, his eyebrows almost reached his hairline they were so high. True concern, an expression he only ever saw on Shiro's face. The woman's expression was always cold and calculating, the others in white blank and indifferent, or sneering, mocking him. Never kind.  
  
The woman's words rang in his ears again. The way she'd spoken about Shiro, condescending as if he was barely worth her attention. He didn't understand the word a lab rat was (though her tone told him it was not a compliment) but he understood 'fool' well enough. The woman did not like Shiro, and that meant that Shiro wasn't one of them, but rather, under her control.  
  
Probably.  
  
Shiro's wide-eyed gaze flashed over to the other side of the room and landed on Lance. He almost dropped the tray in his relief upon finally seeing the other.  
  
“There you are. What are you doing over there?” He took a few steps towards Lance, then stopped, his nose and eyes scrunching up as if he's caught a whiff of something unpleasant. His gaze was drawn to the puddle of vomit nearby, and his eyes widened again before he broke into a jog, closing the distance between them in a couple of quick, long strides.  
  
“Lance, you've been sick? What happened? Are you feeling ok?” He asked in a rush. Shiro crouched down in front of Lance, all but dropping the tray, but he managed to put it down beside him without tipping anything.  
  
Lance shot him a dry look. There was no one else here, only him and the puddle of vomit, so it was pretty obvious what had happened. The bile still burned his throat. It would hurt to speak, so he didn't bother answering such an obvious question, a look was enough.  
  
“Do you still feel sick? Do you have a fever?” Shiro continued to fuss, mostly talking to himself as he pressed his hand (not the silver one) against Lance's forehead. Lance wasn't burning up, perhaps a little warmer than before but his skin still felt cool and smooth in a way that didn't feel wholly human and reminded Shiro of something he couldn't quite put his finger on.  
  
Lance batted his hand away, the expression he shot Shiro one of exasperation, and not anger, as Shiro might have expected. A look that said 'I'm fine' and 'stop fussing', but not one that said 'go away' or 'leave me alone'. It was a look that didn't burn with hate, and while Lance may be annoyed, Shiro would take it over anger.  
  
“Ok, so not

a fever,” he smiled. Shiro turned to the tray and picked up the cup of not-water.  
  
“I know you probably don't feel like drinking, but this will help take the taste away, and you need to rehydrate after throwing up.”  
  
Lance scowled at the cup, his eyebrows knitting together. For a moment it seemed as if he might ignore it or knock it out of Shiro's hand, but then his lower lip jutted out in a defeated pout, accepting that Shiro was right.  
  
He snatched the cup out of Shiro's hand, still without a word, and took a very careful, very small sip. It tasted as horrible as he remembered, but it was a more pleasant taste than the lingering bile, and it did help to soothe the burn a little, even though swallowing it made him shudder.  
  
“I'll leave the tray here. Try to eat something if you can, the bread should be soft and easy to swallow. I'm going to get something to clean this up.” Shiro pushed the tray closer to Lance before leaving the room.  
  
Lance sipped the water and eyed the tray warily. It was laden with the usual contents, as well as another tin of tuna. He stared at it hungrily, longing to reach for it and dig in, but it would be too lumpy. The bread may be easier, as Shiro said, it was soft and tasteless. Perfect. He ripped a small chunk off and chewed it slowly before washing it down the not-water. Unpleasant, but manageable.  
  
Shiro returned a short while later with a bucket and mop in one hand, and a box of other cleaning supplies tucked under his other arm. His soft grey eyes were furious stormy steel. Lance tensed, pressing back against the wall. He'd never seen Shiro like that, and it frightened him. Had Shiro grown tired of being nice to him and was now going to turn against him?  
  
Shiro marched passed Lance, going straight to the vomit he took his anger out on that with the mop.  
  
“Why are you angry?” Lance asked, his voice small and croaky with a slight tremor to it.  
  
Shiro paused and turned to him, his head bowed sheepishly, the storm in his eyes receding. “It's nothing, it just took a little longer than it should have for me to get these cleaning supplies, that's all,” he answered, brushing off the question with a kind smile, but deep in the corner of his eyes Lance could see the storm still roaring.  
  
It took too long for him to get the cleaning supplies. The Doctors were dismissive and unconcerned when Shiro told them what happened, and they clearly had no intention to do anything to help. Shiro had to raid the janitors closet himself to find something to clean up with. Their lack of care made his blood boil. They were supposed to be looking after Lance!  
  
Sill wary Lance watched Shiro. He didn't dare try to eat or drink any more just in case it was him the other was mad at, but as Shiro continued to take his frustration out on the vomit, cleaning everything up with hard scrubbing and a lot of muttering that wasn't directed at him Lance slowly relaxed. The simple act of cleaning up the vomit was already making the room smell better too. No, Shiro was still his usual kind, considerate self.  
  
“There that's better. I can't do anything else about the smell, I wish I could open a window...” Shiro trailed off, his gaze wandering around the room, and the expanse of four solid walls helplessly. Shaking his head, Shiro gathered up all the supplies and made his way over to the door.  
  
Seeing him leave, again, Lance felt a desperate sense of urgency grip his chest. He didn't want to be alone again. He didn't want Shiro to leave; what if he didn't come back?  
  
His desperation fuelling him Lance surged to his feet and stumbled after Shiro, grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt just as he was about to open the door.  
  
Shiro paused, and Lance unable to stop himself in time walked right into his back with a light thud and almost fell flat on his ass. Lance gripped Shiro's sweatshirt tighter, and he leant on him, his head resting between Shiro's shoulder blades.  
  
“Lance? What's wrong?” Shiro asked, twisting slightly to look over his shoulder.  
  
“I'm sorry.” The apology was muttered into Shiro's back, almost muffled, but the sincerity in Lance's voice carried it to Shiro's ears.  
  
“For what? The sick? Don't worry about that, it happens.”  
  
Lance lifted his head and stared at Shiro incredulously.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Never mind,” Lance huffed. Straightening up he let go of Shiro's sweatshirt and took a small step back. He'd gone to all that trouble to apologise, and Shiro didn't even know what he was apologising for. The nerve!  
  
“Are you coming back?” Lance demanded.  
  
“Yes. I just need to return these.” Shiro lifted the bucket and mop.  
  
“Ok. Good.” Lance turned around and walked over to the puddle. It had been far too long since he last moisturised his scales, and he no longer felt queasy, so it was probably safe to return to the water.  
  
He heard a deep, amused chuckled from Shiro as he left, but Lance chose to ignore it. He flopped down in the puddle, on his back, and swirled the water around him like a cocoon.  
  
When Shiro returned, he smiled and chuckled again. Lance would have thrown a ball of water at him if he wasn't so focused on wrapping it all around his body. He watched Shiro from the corner of his eye as he moved over to the tray, picked it up and carried it over to the edge of the shallow pit Lance lay in. He sat down and set the tray down in front of him.  
  
“Do you think you can eat a little more? You ate some of the bread.”  
  
Lance turned his head away from Shiro and closed his eyes. He probably could eat more, but he needed to refresh first, and he couldn't give in to Shiro's nagging so easily and let him know he'd won.  
  
“I brought something else for you to try if you don't want the usual,” Shiro tempted.  
  
Opening his eyes Lance turned to Shiro again, his eyebrows quirked questioningly. Shiro grinned excitedly and pulled something out of the pouch at the front of his sweatshirt. It looked like a rather small bowl with a lid.  
  
Lance was curious but still unimpressed. He continued to swirl the water.  
  
Undeterred, and still grinning proudly, Shiro unscrewed the lid. A subtle smell carried over to Lance, a strange aroma with a hint of salt that made Lance drop the water and sit up. It was a curious smell, but it made his mouth water.  
  
“What is it?” He leaned towards Shiro but didn't try to get any closer just yet.  
  
“Miso soup,” Shiro answered. Lance was none the wiser. He stared at Shiro blankly.  
  
“It's a liquid food. It has tiny chunks of tofu in it too, which is very soft and easy to swallow, and the taste isn't too strong so it should be gentle on your throat.” Shiro explained. He blew on the contents of the bowl a few times and took a small, experimental sip to make sure it wasn't too hot before he held the bowl towards Lance.  
  
Lance shuffled closed, his nose twitching, catching the smell of salt again.  
  
“Is that seaweed?” He took the bowl and held it close, staring into the murky brown liquid.  
  
“Yes. Now it's warm, shouldn't be too hot, but take it slow.”  
  
Lance shot Shiro another dry, withering look and he stuck his tongue out before taking a sip. Shiro laughed.  
  
The first taste was odd. He swallowed it quickly, the heat easing the ache in his throat a little. He took another, larger sip. The liquid moved smoothly down his throat, with little pain, and the hint of salt and savoury flavour was welcome and familiar.  
  
He took another sip, sucking up some of the seaweed greedily. He didn't need to chew anything, everything was either liquid or so soft it fell apart in his mouth. All he had to do was swallow.  
  
“Do you like it?” Shiro interrupted after several long moments of silence, punctuated only by the sound of Lance slurping.  
  
“Yes! Is there more?” The bowl was already almost half empty, but Lance felt like he could drink another ten of them.  
  
“Not now, but I'll bring more next time, in a bigger bowl,” Shiro promised quickly seeing the way Lance's expression fell the moment he said he didn't have more with him.  
  
“Eat some of the bread with it. Maybe you could even mix the tuna in too?” Shiro suggested, pushing the tray towards Lance.  
  
Lance experimented with the food. Dipping the bread in the soup first he took a bite and found he could eat it with little problem. He opened the tuna, adding a small sprinkle he tried that too. With the liquid, the tuna fell apart more easily, and the soup washed it down without any trouble. It was a strange concoction, the taste not quite right, but he could finally eat something. Lance ate all that he could.  
  
“Now are you sure you feel ok? You don't feel like you're going to be sick again?” Shiro questioned as he got ready to leave, the tray a lot lighter.  
  
“Yes I'm fine,” Lance answered with a roll of his eyes. His stomach felt a bit strange after not eating properly for however long, but he didn't feel like he was going to throw it all up this time.  
  
“Ok, but tell me if you feel any worse next time I visit.”  
  
“Yes, mom.”  
  
Shiro laughed. “I'll see you again soon, Lance,” he promised before leaving the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.  
  
And just like that things were back to normal between them. Lance sighed and lay down in the puddle again.  
  
There was still that frightful woman, and the others in white. But Shiro was kind. Shiro was not one of them. Now, Lance believed that.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed (?) this chapter. Things are going to get worse for Lance before they get better. I'm sorry.


End file.
